Learning How To Smile
by Punky Misfit
Summary: A fight with Brennan injures more than Booth's emotions. In the aftermath Brennan must figure out how to let go of her guilt to help him find the man he is. Season 7 storylines.
1. Undiscovered

"_Really, Bones? You're really going to stand there and say that to me?"_

"_Booth, you're being foolish. You're misunderstanding what I'm saying."_

"_No, I think I hear you loud and clear. That's what you think of me, huh? I'm good enough to get you pregnant, but you don't have much other use for me."_

"_That's not true! I love you! If you would stop letting your pride get in the way-"_

_Booth put up his hand to silence her. He snatched his keys up from the hook where they hung by the front door. "Whatever. I don't want to hear it. I'm going out."_

"_Fine. Go!" She snapped. Without a backwards glance the door slammed with a particular vicious note of ferocity. Brennan stood solo in the aftermath trying to comprehend just what had taken place._

The shrill ringing of a rotary phone woke Brennan from the fitful sleep she'd been lost in. Without opening her eyes she extended her hand to the bedside table where her phone laid charging. Unplugging it, she managed to turn the alarm off without ever moving much more than her arm. Why had she decided her ring tone would make an excellent alarm? Further, why hadn't she bothered to change it when she went through this same thought process every morning? "Are you showering first?" She grumbled. The lack of response she received at last got her eyes open. The space in the bed besides her was empty. Her heart fell with sorrow.

_Brennan waited a half an hour before calling his phone. "Booth please, this is ludicrous. We need to talk. You need to come home."_

"_I'll come home when I'm ready."_

"_When will that be?"_

"_I don't know." He disconnected the line._

She and Booth had gotten into plenty of fights before. Usually she had always been the one to leave. But in the rare occasions that Booth did he always was back by morning. Could he still be so angered with her? Tears flooded her eyes. She decided she'd shower and make breakfast before trying his phone again. With a great amount of difficultly she sat up. Her protruding stomach which currently housed her growing child loomed in front of her. More extreme effort it took just to climb up out of bed.

Booth and Brennan had been together for years, though not in the traditional sense. They'd made the transitions from acquaintances to partners, and partners to subsequently, lovers. She'd been in a slight shock when she'd discovered her pregnancy. She'd been surprised again at the joyous reception she'd received from him when she'd told him the news. Though she hadn't been sure what she'd been expecting, his reaction had told her all she'd needed to know. Being with him was the right choice. Since then they'd been much more outgoing about their relationship.

Her thoughts were on him all while she showered and prepared for the morning. She turned on his television on her way to the kitchen to make breakfast. Before they'd begun making the awkward apartment shifts every week Brennan had hardly ever watched a television for more than a few hours at a time. Because of Booth she'd begun viewing more. In the morning he usually liked to watch the news before heading off to work. He may not have been there but his habit ran in her.

She removed two pieces of bread from the loaf. Into the toaster she inserted them, and then sat to wait for them to finish. The local news anchor's voice loudly boasted the morning's headlines.

"_Our top story this morning happened during the overnight hours. Fog and ice are to blame for a ten car pile up that occurred on the Key Bridge. Four were dead on the scene, and one died later from their injuries at a local hospital. Others were transported to area hospitals. We have Mike live out at the scene. Mike, what time would you say this happened?"_

"_Well Carol, the police are telling me they believe the first accident took place around two this morning."_

Brennan's blood ran ice cold. Her argument with Booth had been in that time frame. He'd never come home all night, so far as she knew.

"_Since it was dark by the time upcoming traffic came upon the first accident, there was little they could do. Ice on the road only complicated the matter."_

"_Do you know anything about the injured?"_

"_As you can see from the pictures-"_

Brennan flew into the living room to watch the screen. A sick feeling was forming in her stomach. This time she was sure it had nothing to do with her pregnancy.

The carnage was massive. Multiple cars had hit so hard they'd nearly crunched into one. A few were upside down. Pieces were lying in the road. A tire had been laid up against a guard rail. "No," she whispered to herself.

"_The damage was pretty great. I'm told the survivors were transported in both serious and critical conditions. That's the only information the police have given."_

"_Thanks, Mike."_

As calmly as she could sustain Brennan retrieved her cell phone from the bedroom. She sat herself back down on the mattress. She dialed Booth's number, staying on the line until it rang through to his voice mail. After five minutes she repeated her actions. He didn't answer.

Her heart was in her throat when she began dialing hospitals to search for him. The first one she tried, the most local, had no listing for him. The second one didn't want to give her any information at all. "Please, I'm his wife." She'd begged her lie. Only then did they too, admit he was not a patient in their hospital.

Just as she was beginning to try a third her phone rang in her hand with an unidentified number. Swallowing raw nerves, she answered. "Brennan?"

"Is this Dr. Temperance Brennan?"

She shut her eyes tight. "Speaking."

"This is Dr. Nash. I'm calling you concerning-"

"Booth." She under toned. A tear dripped down her cheek.

* * *

><p>Dr. Mullins had tried to prepared her over the phone. But no amount of preparation could ready her for what awaited her in the intensive care unit. Upon arriving at the hospital she was appointed to Booth's doctor straight away. The man had taken her hand. "I'm sorry we have to meet under such circumstances."<p>

She merely nodded. In a robotic voice she heard herself ask, "what happened to him?"

"He was fifth in the pile up, from what I've been told. He came up on the accident and swerved to avoid. The trouble was the speed at which he was traveling and the ice-"

"Please just get to the point."

"Basically, his vehicle was t-boned by another and sandwiched into the pile up."

"What are his injuries?"

"Couple of broken ribs. Punctured lung. Broken wrist and collarbone. But the injury we are most concerned about is his brain. He suffered a severe head injury. We were forced to do surgery to relieve building pressure."

Brennan worked hard to control her emotions. "Are you saying he has brain damage? How bad is it?"

"We won't know the true extent of the injury until he wakes. Then we'll be better able to assess."

She nodded, not being able but to help think he was holding something back from her. "I wish to see him."

"Of course. Right this way." He wound her around through the back halls of the unit until they stopped in front of a particular cubicle. It took all the courage Brennan could muster to approach the bed. The sight of him took her breath away. Both his eyes were blackened with bruises. His face was cut up from glass, no doubt from a shattered windshield. A white bandage covered his entire head. A respirator mask strapped down over his mouth and nose kept him breathing in a timely rhythm. But she could still hear his fight for each breath. Her stoic stance slipped. "Booth."

Dr. Mullins sensed it was best to leave them alone. He made his quiet exit. Brennan hardly remembered he'd been with her in the first place. "I'm so sorry," she took a hold of his undamaged hand and gave it a squeeze of affection. "You wouldn't have been out there if it weren't for me."

With the exception of his breathing Booth was completely still. She saw no glimpse of him in the shell that had been pulled from the wreckage. Without letting go she pulled a chair up besides his bed and sat down. No matter how long it took, she'd wait for him.


	2. If I Die Young

In the days that passed Brennan began to learn the details surrounding what had been the ultimate demise for Booth. Though she learned much from his doctors, a good portion of what she heard came from the Metro police. An officer from their Accident Investigations Unit had arrived the following morning while Brennan had been keeping vigil over Booth's unconscious body. The officer had remained mum. He'd eyed Booth before meeting her gaze. "Sleeping or unconscious?"

"Coma." She said. Suddenly her eyes were too heavy to hold to his level. She dropped her stare down onto the floor.

The officer sniffed, unaffected. He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a card. "When he wakes, I need to interview him for my report."

"He may not be able to answer your questions." She warned him sadly as she accepted the card. "Can_ you_ tell _me_ what happened?"

The officer checked a notebook tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket. "He was the fed in the Suburban, right? The fifth car." Papers riffled through his fingers. "What we've pieced together so far is he was driving far too fast for the elements."

She glanced at Booth's face. _He was angry. _

"The fog was thick. He was practically in the accident before he swerved on ice and rammed head first into the bridge's guard rail. The next oncoming car had the same problem, but instead of losing complete control the driver t-boned the driver's side door of the Suburban. From what paramedics were able to tell his head had a hard impact with the window. So hard, in fact, that it cracked the glass. The Jaws Of Life were activated to extract him from the vehicle."

Brennan inhaled tightly. The officer's words were almost physically wounding to her. She was relieved once he'd shuffled about on his way. "I never should have let you walk out." She whispered to Booth. For the umpteenth time since she'd been with him she'd squeezed his hand in hopes of a reaction. Again she was let down when he remained motionless.

Not too much time passed that day without word spreading through the Jeffersonian like rabid wildfire. Before she knew it Brennan was engulfed in a mob of their friends. Cam was holding back tears of anguish the moment she stepped into the room. "Booth." She gasped his name. "What happened?"

"Car accident. It happened late last night. There was fog and-" Her voice caught. "And ice on the bridge…"

"Late last night? What was he doing out driving?" Angela asked next.

Shamefully, Brennan turned her head away from them. "We got into a fight. He left."

Sweets interest was piqued. He too, stepped forward. "You argued? What did you fight about?"

_Booth was settled back on the couch. His eyes were shut. A beer bottle fresh from the refrigerator was pressed up against his temple, supporting his head. Only moments ago had he arrived home. Brennan had heard him from the bedroom. Her shadow spread over his body now like a blanket. "We need to talk." She began quietly._

_One eye cracked back open before the other. He sat up, lowering the bottle. "What is it?"_

_She took a seat besides him. Before she could speak she had to breathe deeply. His eyes tore into her heart._

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

They all saw Brennan's spine turn rigid. Her grip on Booth tightened. Hodgins put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Does it really matter?"

Under his breath he mumbled, "I guess not."

All conversation ceased after that. What was there to say? A tragedy was taking place right before their very eyes. The sight of their fallen friend told them all they needed to know; informed them of the seriousness. After a while Brennan could no longer tolerate the silence or the sympathy. "I'm grateful for the support, but I would like to be alone with him. I will keep you informed of his developments."

There was a muffled chorus of "sure" and "of course." One by one they trudged out. Except Angela. She stood tall besides her best friend. "It isn't your fault, sweetie."

"I know." She sniped. But behind her quip was the truth. She wasn't sure she'd ever stop blaming herself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I'm being rude."

"You're worried." It took a good deal to ruffle Angela's feathers. That was especially true in all matters concerning Brennan. "Call me if you need anything. And sweetie, take care of yourself. Running ragged is only going to hurt all three of you." She gestured to her swollen stomach.

Brennan expressed her gratitude. In all honesty she felt better when she was alone.

One day turned into two before transitioning into three. Hour by hour Booth was hanging on by a thread. His blood pressure was too high, and he was running a fever. He'd developed a heart arrhythmia. His breaths remained steadily weak, though doctors had felt him strong enough to breathe on his own without the respirator. Brennan knew that the longer he remained in a coma, the higher the risk of him suffering from severe cranial trauma. Sometimes she was able to successfully cope with the knowledge. If that was the case than they both would learn to adapt. They'd find a way around his newborn disability. Others she was so distraught she shook with silent grief. She wished with the hope of a child for his eyes to open; for him to return home where he belonged. Why was he staying away so long?

"Booth, _please._" She pleaded quietly into his ear in the early morning hours of the third day. "I take it back. I'll take it all back. Just please, wake up." She smoothed her fingertips across the warm, damaged skin of his cheek. She left her palm there with the idea of him being able to feel her touch. "I know I can't erase time. But you've always given me faith that I can make things right." _I can't make him right physically. _The unintended thought brought her to tears. There in private solitude she wept out the emotion she refused to show anyone else. "I'm so sorry."

Whether it was her words or outside forces was unknown. Regardless, Booth emerged from his cocoon that afternoon. Brennan had been near falling asleep. Since the nightmare had begun she'd only been able to receive hours' rest at a time. His sudden firm grasp on her fingers popped her eyes open. "Booth?"

His lips parted. His dry tongue clicked against the top surface of his mouth. To Brennan it appeared as though he were trying to form words. "Booth?" She repeated. Cautiously she ambled up onto her feet. As she crept closer to him his eyes partially opened. Tension in the form of laughter erupted from her belly. "Booth!" Quickly though that joy stopped. History was cruel enough to near repeat itself.

Booth continued to still make strange motions with his mouth, adding nonhuman sounding vocal tones. His stare was without any sort of recognition. Brennan couldn't determine if he understood that he wasn't alone. Didn't he feel her?

The look in his eyes confirmed her suspected fear. Their journey had only begun.


	3. Give Me A Sign

Time from then on was a cruel and unusual punishment. Hours later Brennan sat in Dr. Mullins office with her arms folded across her chest. Her worry had transformed into undirected anger. The intense emotion was much easier to confront than that of sorrow in the presence of utter strangers.

Booth's state had sent her flying from his cubicle to find a doctor or nurse. Dr. Mullins had arrived with a nurse in tow within minutes. He'd done a thorough exam, and then taken Booth for an updated set of brain scans. By the time he was returned to her he was flat out exhausted. She'd taken up bracing his hand again until he'd tiredly fallen asleep. She'd been summoned to Dr. Mullins' office not too long after.

"The good news is, he's trying to communicate with us. His movements and sounds are his way of trying to form words." Dr. Mullins started. And stopped. His tongue was tied as to how to continue.

His reluctance meant nothing to her. No matter how heartrending she needed to know the exact details. "But? Usually good news is a segue way to bad news."

"His head injury is just as severe as I suspected."

Brennan steeled herself against the new onslaught of emotional pain. Her stare fell down on her stomach. "What can be done for him?"

"Now that he's awake we can observe and determine by his behavior just how deep his injuries run. From there we can hire a few vocational therapists to work with him until we feel he's ready to leave. Then he'd likely require outpatient long term physical and psychological therapy."

None of this pleased her. "Can't I just take him home and let him recover there now?" She'd put together a theory that if the two were together one on one continuously he would improve much faster. Perhaps it didn't make much sense. But in her mind, as it still regained ground from it's own shock of the situation, it did.

Dr. Mullins chuckled sadly. "Dr. Brennan, I think you've forgotten. It's not just his brain that's been harmed. His body isn't in good shape, either. If he can't talk properly than I can almost guarantee you he won't be able to walk. As tough as it is this is the place he will receive the best care at the moment."

"I understand that." She admitted truthfully. "Is there anything I can do for him while he's here?"

Dr. Mullins silenced for a moment in thought. "I gather you are his significant other?" At her nod he continued. "Spend as much time as you can with him. It's important that he be surrounded by familiarity. If there are any objects that have particular meaning to him, those can be helpful as well."

To her feet she rose with the advice. Just as she was turning away she remembered something. "He always wears a St. Christopher medal. It would have been with him when he was brought in. That would carry significance with him."

"I'll look into it for you."

From there she left the hospital only long enough to return to his apartment for a few items. While she was there she took the opportunity to shower and change clothes. Though she tried to eat her meal tasted like lead. For the baby's sake she choked down what she could. Then she journeyed back to the hospital.

Over the course of the following days it became obvious Booth was fully over his coma. Though he still spent a good portion of his time sleeping, he'd wake for a few hours at a time. While he was alert Brennan spoke to him as though he comprehended her words. He gave her no real indication either way. Most of the time he squinted at her with the eyes of a lost, suspicious little boy.

Then one afternoon all began to change. To keep herself occupied Brennan had busied herself tidying up his room. There wasn't much, but she rearranged gifts and other well wishing tokens that had given to him. She noticed how closely he was watching her. Every move she made his stare trailed. Finally, she went directly to his side. "Booth," she addressed him softly. "Do you know who I am?"

His response was delayed. But when he spoke, her heart stopped. "Bonnesszzuh."

She gasped back tears. "Yes. That's right."

After a moment he smiled as well as he was able. Some light swelling had yet to decrease in his face. Next she noticed his lips making the same motions they had when he'd left his coma. "Wha… ha…"

"What happened to you?" She did her best to fill in his fragmented words. "You were in a car accident. You've been seriously injured." She waited to see how the news affected him. His eyes blinked closed after a few moments. "Her…" He exhaled.

"Yes, you're hurt."

His expression changed. It tore her apart to see the time it took him to process her responses to him. His eyes opened again. "No-uh. Hhheerrr…"

Brennan didn't have the slightest idea as to what he was trying to refer to or ask her. "Her who, Booth?"

His jaw clenched. Simultaneously he was becoming angered and distraught. She had no means of understanding him, and he had no real appropriate way to express himself. Desperately she rushed to her purse. "Can you write it, Booth? Can you tell me?" Since it was his left wrist that had broken she was sure he'd be able to put down his thoughts through written word. She put a note pad down within reach by his side. Then she pointed a pen at him for him to take. He stared for a good long moment, his eyes once again slitting into an intense squint, before attempting to stretch for it. He could barely lift his arm from his side.

_The majority of his injury was to the left side of his brain, which controls the right side of the body. _She clicked the point off the pen. Booth wouldn't be able to write. She realized for the first time that his injuries spread into areas she'd never considered. Dejectedly she put the two items away.

"Sorrree."

She took him to be apologizing. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Booth." _It's my fault this happened to you. _"You'll improve. In the meantime we just need to find a way around this." Before she'd even stopped speaking she noticed his attention had moved on. For the first time since he'd become aware of his surroundings she was standing close enough to him that her pregnancy was most obvious. He had fixated on her stomach.

"Do you remember?" She asked him quietly. With extra tenderness she took a hold of his hand. She laid it against her stomach where their daughter had been kicking her sporadically. The child chose that moment to press her feet against their touch.

He was silent. His brow had furrowed. She waited patiently for some sort of sign; some clue that he grasped the miracle their life together had created. Increasingly however she realized it was a dead hope. His interest was there, but the connectors didn't fire.

_Objects of familiarity. _For a second time she went to her purse. She rooted around until she found a picture from the ultrasound her doctor had given her. _The ultrasound I didn't invite him to. _She exhaled. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of that. Before his eyes she held the picture. Again time ticked by before he managed to flex his arm enough to bring the picture close to his face. _That's why he's been squinting. He's having issues with his sight. _"This is our baby, Booth. She's yours."

He scrutinized the picture for numerous minutes. But nothing in his eyes or body gave any indication that he understood the information she was relaying to him. Her heart felt crushed. _He doesn't understand that he's a father. _She decided Parker wasn't worth mentioning. If it came to be that he couldn't remember his son, then she was sure to lose her composure. She knew it was time to stop when tears shimmered in his eyes. Her tries at bringing him down memory lane were backfiring.

"It's all right." She gradually removed the picture from viewing and tucked it safely back in her purse. "We'll take this as slow as we need to, Booth."

His eyes had fallen closed. She sat back down with him while he drifted off into a place she couldn't join him. "It'll be all right," she murmured to him, wondering if there was any truth to her words.

Just then a young man in surgical scrubs appeared. "Dr. Mullins told me to give this to you." He handed her a pocket sized box. Then just as soon as he'd appeared he was gone.

Brennan opened it. Inside lay Booth's medal. She took it out and held it up to the light. Though she wasn't the least bit religious, she couldn't help thinking to herself. _St. Christopher, show him the way._

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Over the course of the story you will find out what it was they were fighting about.<p> 


	4. Visitors Bring Hope

Beyond that day Booth showed little improvement. He still spoke in strained fragments, most of the time leaving Brennan to guess his real meaning. She'd tried showing him his St. Christopher's medal. "Your Pops gave this to you before you went off to war. You always wear it." She tried to explain. Over his chest she'd let it dangle.

He'd simply stared. There was no moment of brilliance in which she had been longing for. Stiffened were his movements as he tried to extend his arm upwards and fetch it. Brennan had gotten the idea that if she forced Booth into physical activity he'd begin to strengthen. Dr. Mullins was putting off physical therapy until he'd begun to show greater signs of mental competence and recovery. Brennan was displeased with the decision, and probably could have fought it. But in watching Booth daily she could clearly see the reason for the delay.

He'd managed to grasp her wrist and bring it down to him. He held the medal in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the imprinted image of the saint. Still, there was no recognition. Gradually his eyes had raised back to hers. Like all other times they narrowed into a squint. Brennan had exhaled deeply. It was a setback but she wouldn't be deterred.

Later on that same afternoon the same officer from the Metro police who had conversed with Brennan before appeared. She was a little surprised he found them. Since the imminent threat to Booth's life was over he'd been transported into a regular room. Then there was the wonderment on how he obtained the knowledge that Booth had woken. "You never called me," he accused Brennan in a cool voice.

Her defense rose. "He can't hardly speak. You won't be able to understand much from him."

"I'll be the judge of that." The man sauntered to the bed. "Agent Booth?" He questioned. Up close Brennan could see his name badge. Officer Kelly.

Booth had been dozing. As usual he was delayed in opening his eyes and looking upwards towards his visitor. His brow furrowed. He looked to Brennan. She shrugged back at him. The motion only confused him further.

"Agent Booth, I'm Officer Kelly with the Accident Investigations Unit over at Metro. I need to ask you some questions about the accident you were involved in."

After a moment his eyes lit. "Her!" He exclaimed excitedly. "Hhheerrr-"

Brennan frowned. Not this again. "Was anyone else found with him in his car?"

"No." Officer Kelly was taken aback in surprise. "Just him."

"Booth, no one knows who you are referring to."

"Hhhhheerrrrrr!" He stretched out the word longer with a touch of aggravation. At the end, he finally was able to add a syllable. "Tuh."

"Hurt? Yes. You're very hurt." Was he just not comprehending?

"No-uh." They both noticed his muscles tighten. He was becoming angry. "Her-tuh."

"Are you asking if you hurt anyone?" Officer Kelly tried. When seconds passed and Booth responded, his eyes lit. Someone had finally understood him! "Yea."

"There were numerous injuries and fatalities. But no, you were not directly responsible for anyone's death or otherwise."

Brennan hadn't realized until then how much Booth had been agonizing over the question. His whole body seemed to release. His eyes half closed. Brennan felt the need to step in. "Just go back to sleep, Booth. That's more important right now." She stroked his forehead. Underneath her touch he soon slipped back into sleep.

"I didn't realize how bad he was." Officer Kelly admitted quietly. "I mean, I was there at the scene but he was unconscious. I thought he'd just bled a lot."

Mental images appeared in Brennan's mind. She tried to shoo them away, but couldn't stop herself from asking, "the damage was that bad?"

"He hit a guard rail head on before getting t-boned. Yeah. It was pretty bad. I don't think there was a window in his vehicle that wasn't broken out or cracked. There was blood all over him. I can tell you first hand how lucky he is to be alive."

Booth interrupted them with a cough. They both could hear the hiss in his lungs, as if proving their point. There was a whistling in his chest whenever he breathed due to the punctured lung. But Brennan had become immune to the sound over time.

"I guess I won't be getting much for my report." Officer Kelly repocketed the notebook he'd been holding.

"He doesn't remember, regardless. There's really no method to his thought process and comprehension." A therapist had visited the day before to run a few tests on Booth. Despite the broken language barrier she'd been able to get information from him. There was no rhyme or reason in what he could summon up out of his life. Faces and people had more meaning to him than objects or words. He didn't know the president or what year it was, but he knew Washington D.C. He couldn't remember where he lived, but knew he worked for the FBI. As far as details pertaining to the accident, the last memory he had was of the case he'd finished before coming home that night. He knew nothing of the fight he'd shared with Brennan before he'd walked out. The rest was erased.

"Stay in touch. If he remembers anything-"

"I'll call." She falsely promised. She had no intention of doing so. All she could hope was that if he remembered he wouldn't be able to evoke the terrible words she'd said to him, or the pain she'd caused him. He'd been injured long before he'd been in the accident.

Officer Kelly showed himself out. Brennan returned to Booth's side. She squeezed the fingers on his hand. Awash in guilt she was again.

The biggest surprise however, had been when Rebecca and Parker had abruptly shown. Brennan had been typing on her lap top when she heard a gasp. "Seeley." She'd craned her head to find the woman standing in the doorway. Parker was positioned in front of her. "Rebecca." She closed the lid on the computer. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard what happened. After I couldn't reach him I called the bureau. They filled me in." She glanced at her with ice in her eyes. "I wish you would have contacted me."

"I had no way to." She stood in front of them. "I'm not sure you want your son seeing his father like this." She wouldn't have wanted their daughter to witness it.

Rebecca's face crumpled. "I don't understand. How bad is he?"

"He sustained injuries to his parietal, temporal, and frontal lobes."

"I don't know what that means!" She snapped back. Parker subtly eased himself from being sandwiched between them. He tip toed to where his father lay sleeping. "Dad?" He said his name softly. When his eyes didn't open he leaned forward to speak directly into his ear. "Dad?"

Booth's eyes opened, again after a painstaking pause. He looked around before he located Parker.

"He's lost a good portion of his memory. His speech and motor skills have been affected. His sight is poor," Brennan was patiently explaining when they both heard Booth slur, "Par-cur." Both women's attention were redirected to the father and son.

Parker smiled. "Yeah, dad. It's me. I brought you something." He reached into his bag and retrieved a football. He held it out to him. All watched as Booth ran his fingers over the bumpy surface. "Steal-lurs."

"Yeah. We went to a Steelers game and you got me this ball."

Booth beamed back at him. Both women were marveled. This boy wasn't frightened by his father's condition, and seemed to deal with him like an expert adult. The interaction gave Brennan renewed hope.

"You should hold onto this." Parker tucked it next to his father's side. "It can be for good luck."

"Is he going to be okay?" Rebecca under toned to Brennan.

She swallowed the harsh truth. "I don't know. From what I'm told he'll improve, but it's uncertain just how much."

Brennan stood by and watched while the family remained for a little over an half an hour. For his part Booth interacted as much as he was able, which by portion was small. But it was a start. By the end it was easy to see how much he was tiring. His confusion was greater than it had been since he'd woken. Before she could intervene Rebecca was readying to leave. She promised their return soon. Parker hugged Booth. Unfortunately, the father couldn't maneuver his arms enough to show affection back.

"Please keep me informed." Rebecca requested on her way out the door.

In their absence Brennan rejoined Booth. She noticed how tense he'd suddenly become. His eyes were scrunched tight, and he was wincing. She pulled back. "Booth? What's wrong?"

"Her-tuh."

He was in more pain than his medication was able to handle. She reached for a remote laying next to his broken wrist in his bed. She depressed the button on the very end. Painkillers flowed through his veins. Deliriously he just about smiled.

"Sleep now." She pressed her lips to his forehead. "I love you."

"Luv." He repeated, and obeyed her instructions almost immediately. She sat down and observed him.

She'd meant what she'd said to Rebecca. She didn't know if ultimately Booth would be all right. His doctors had been optimistic, but she couldn't quite let herself be the same. They were unaware of the man he'd been before. They had no idea just how truly broken he was in contrast.

But today he'd exhibited a new strength she didn't know he possessed. He was rising in the face of disaster, trying to overcome his new obstacles. Because of that, and the man he'd been, she started to let herself believe as well. If nothing else, she believed in him.

Time was the true teller.


	5. Show Me What I'm Looking For

_The sickly mixture of blood and smoke filled up Booth's airways. He could sense the red liquid was on him, and perhaps had come from him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could taste it on his tongue. His forehead was resting against a leather circular object. Pain radiated through his being whenever he inhaled, which he was doing rapidly as it was difficult to breathe. The bones in his left hand and wrist felt as though they'd been smashed into microscopic pieces. Anything beyond that was hard for him to discern. Where was he? And why was his body suspended from motion?_

"_Hey, I think this one's still alive. I can't get at him though."_

"_Why not? The windshield's broken. Just crawl through?"_

"_He's belted in. See?" A white light washed over Booth's eyelids. "Maybe I can get at him but depending on his injuries I think it would be better if we could get through the door."_

"_Yeah. He's probably got a head injury. He's bleeding from his nose. Fine. I'll get the extractors. Keep talking to him. See if he responds."_

_The first voice grew louder. "Sir? Can you hear me?"_

I can hear you. I'm alive! _Booth thought desperately. But his voice caught in his throat. His eyes refused to open. In fact, his entire body disobeyed him by remaining motionless._

I'm going to die here. _Uncontrollably, he trembled. _Help me! I'm here!

"Booth!"

Words he didn't understand were coming from his mouth as he was ripped back into consciousness. With each and every hasty breath he gasped, "hee-rah. Hee-rah." A moment passed before Brennan worriedly exclaiming his name registered. He looked to her, still unable to breathe properly. Then the pain hit. He winced his eyes closed. His muscles hardened.

His hand was snatched into Brennan's. "Hold on!" He could hear the bustle of activity. On his skin he felt the brush of air as others joined them. "I believe he needs a stronger painkiller. This is twice now this has happened."

More movement. "What happened in here?"

"I don't know. He was sleeping and then he woke up in this state." There was a quiver in Brennan's voice. "He's behaving as though he had a bad dream. I think he's beginning to remember what happened to him."

Lifetimes seemed to pass before Booth felt relief. He relaxed. His breathing gradually returned to a normal, albeit strained, rhythm. Brennan thanked whomever had assisted them. Upon hearing retreating footsteps he heard Brennan say his name. It echoed around his mind until he forced his eyes open partly. His beautiful partner had tears pooling in her eyes. "How do you feel now?"

He just stared at her. Somewhere inside him he knew there was a word, numerous words actually, that he could have selected from to describe his feelings. But nothing would conjure up. Intuitively he also was aware that even if those lost words would come to him, he'd have trouble in trying to relay them. This new nightmare he'd woken to was wearing him down daily. Every hour brought forth a new aggravation.

Brennan sighed. "You look better."

Yes! Better was the word! He tried to nod, but found it only caused more pain in his skull. Weakly he lifted his arm to his forehead.

"_Geez. That's a lot of blood. Are you sure he's still alive?" _

"_He's got a weak pulse, but it's still a pulse." _

Booth scrunched his eyes closed tightly. "Wha… ha…" Why were these memories coming back to him? Hadn't Brennan told him what he'd been involved in? Why couldn't he remember?

"You were in a car accident. You broke several bones, and you sustained a severe brain injury."

That he understood completely given time. He again looked to her for guidance. A newfound fear was written in his expression. Brennan seemed to be able to read what was unspoken. "Your doctors believe you'll get better. It will just take some time." She grimaced, letting go of his hand long enough to rub at her stomach.

"Hel… hell…"

"Hell?" She repeated, twisting her face in confusion.

His quick flare of temper was back. It didn't seem to take much to trigger it. "Heeeelllllll… puh."

"Help? Help you?" She saw she'd guessed right. "I don't know how, Booth. I'm not a therapist."

"Help." He insisted again, this time mimicking the tone and sounds she'd used. "Help. Me."

Brennan narrowed her eyes in thought. She leaned forward. "You feel better, correct? Try saying it with me. _I feel better_."

He listened to her run through the simple phrase a few times. Then he took his time copying her. Eventually he was able to speak, though he still struggled. But it was enough of a sign. When she smiled at him he smiled back at her. She couldn't keep herself from rewarding him with a kiss. Only to her disappointment he didn't share the affection. When she pulled away she noticed the same questioning expression he constantly wore.

"We'll get through this." She assured him.

Had Booth been able to think it, he wouldn't have been so sure.

* * *

><p><em>Brennan was a chicken. Booth was patiently waiting for her to begin her speech. She took in his haggard appearance and couldn't bring herself to do so. "What happened to you?"<em>

"_You want to talk about that?" He chuckled, though it was more of irony than amusement. "I've been up for twenty four hours straight, Bones. You know how stakeouts are. Then I finally get the guy and he turns around and clocks me one-"_

"_I don't want to give up my apartment." She burst out. Maybe if she just abruptly spit it out it would be like tearing a band aid from a wound._

_Booth sat up. "What? I thought we were going to finally move in together? I thought that's what you wanted."_

"_I have been thinking and I've changed my mind. About many things."_

* * *

><p>"Home?"<p>

The scene dissipated. Brennan shook the memory from cobwebs of her mind. She hated how her conscious chose to ambush her at seemingly random times. A great source of guilt settled in her chest. She returned to her previous activity of packing up her things. Visiting hours had ended. She was being dismissed.

"Home?" Booth repeated again. She turned around. Last she'd checked he'd been sound asleep. His head now was tilted to the side. His chocolate brown eyes were heart crushing, pleading the question his mind hadn't healed enough to let him ask. He reached out for her hand. She offered it, and he wrapped his fist around a few of her fingers.

"Yes. I'm going home. I have to."

"Want to go home." He spoke with great concentration. For the remainder of that week Brennan had been working on his speech with him. She may not have been a speech pathologist, but he'd vastly improved.

"I'm sorry, Booth. You're not ready yet."

Despite the progress his response processing was still at a slowed speed. "When?"

"When will you be ready? Likely not for a while."

"I don't want…" He didn't know what else to say, or how to say it.

"I know. But you can't even walk. You're doing well. We shouldn't hasten your recovery, especially not with the amount of pain you're still in." In a way she was thankful for the time. There was much she needed to sort out before she could work on repairing them. One of these days she had to figure Booth would remember their fight. Would he still want her by his side when that day came?

He frowned.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning." She kissed his forehead. He remained mute all while she said goodbye and left. It wasn't until much later that he whispered to himself, "walk."


	6. Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall

Angela felt bright eyed and refreshed when she strolled into the Jeffersonian the following morning. With Michael at day care and a container of decaffeinated coffee in her hand, she was ready to work. Although with Booth in the hospital there had been little to do. She hadn't seen Brennan step foot in the lab even once. Not that she blamed her. God forbid anything ever happened to Hodgins or Michael… she couldn't even continue the thought. It frightened her too greatly. She couldn't begin to imagine how she'd handle such a misfortune.

Which was why she was in shock to pass Brennan's office to find the door closed. Inside the overhead lights were on. Had someone locked themselves in her best friend's office? For what purpose? She tip toed to the glass wall and peeked in. No intruder sat behind her desk. Brennan herself had all her attention trained on her computer monitor. Nothing about this was right.

Angela knocked on the door. "Sweetie?" She opened without waiting for an answer. "What are you doing here?"

She didn't bat an eye in her direction. "Answering some emails and phone messages."

"Aren't those both activities you can do at home? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

Her resolve broke. Angela could swear she rapidly blinked tears away from her vision. "I'm… not sure I can visit him today."

Angela paused. In a slightly stern voice she demanded, "Bren, what happened?"

She sat back in her desk chair. Angela quickly shut the door. She crossed her arms and waited patiently for her to speak.

"Last night when I was leaving Booth asked me when he would be able to come home. He hates being in the hospital."

"He hasn't been there that long. He still has so much more healing to do-"

"I know." Brennan breathed. "I made the mistake of pointing out that he isn't able to walk yet. I got a call from his doctor in the middle of the night-"

Angela gasped. She understood the direction Brennan was headed in. "He tried to walk."

She nodded. "He slipped trying to walk to the door. He'd only made it a few steps. He isn't strong enough."

"Was he hurt?" Angela sat down in a chair in front of Brennan's desk.

"A little. I was informed in the fall his IV tore from his hand and bled. He fell forward onto his stomach, so his breathing has been affected again. Beyond that he's just bruised." She exhaled. "It wasn't on purpose, but I hurt him."

"Sweetie, you had no idea he was going to actually try it."

"I put the idea in his head. I made it appear that all he needed to do was walk to be able to get home. There's so much more than that. Ange," a tear finally fell from her eye. "I just keep hurting him. Unintentionally I keep wounding him. The fight we had," she sucked in a breath. "I said terrible things to him. I drove him from his apartment. I might as well have put him behind the wheel and sent him to the accident myself. And I didn't mean any of it."

"If you didn't mean it, then why did you say it?"

"I still get scared sometimes. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true." She had to look away from her friend's intense stare. "I feel as though everything's fine, and then it all hits me at once and I can't breathe. I live with Booth. I sleep with him. We're having a child." She glanced down at her stomach. "He's with me all the time, being needlessly overprotective. It's just… my solitary life has suddenly doubled at what felt like an extremely fast pace. And sometimes I just…"

"Flip out?"

"That would be an appropriate metaphor." Her gaze dropped down to her hands. "He's so injured, Angela. And I feel completely responsible. What if he's still like this when the baby's born? I want him to be able to understand what he's helped create. I want him to be able to hold her. Right now I don't think he comprehends that I'm pregnant, or that he's the father."

Angela didn't know precisely what to say. It was one of the few times she was speechless. "It's not your fault. You have to know that."

"I pushed him away. Sooner or later he's going to remember everything. If he shuts me out now…"

"He won't do that. You two will work it out."

"I just want him to be safe and happy." A full sob escaped her throat. "I want him back."

* * *

><p><em>Booth turned the radio on. He jabbed at various buttons until hard rock music blasted his ears. Yes! This was what he needed! Anger! Something that identified with the dark beast screaming in his chest. He threw caution to the wind, speeding well over the limit and running red lights. Few people in his life could drive him so crazy.<em>

_He had no real destination in mind. All he knew was that he wanted to leave the city as quick as he could. Brennan didn't want to live with him? Fine. He could deal with that. His heart had suffered through worse. But the way she'd been talking… it was as though she had no desire to even keep him in her life. What had happened? He was baffled. Just the morning before they'd been sleeping together, content and thrilled over their joined lives together. Why would she suddenly want to turn her back on all they'd shared?_

_The cold night air was creeping a chill through the car. He cranked up the heat to fight off the freezing sensation. Mile by mile he hurried through the darkness towards the bridge that led into Maryland. The lines in the middle of the road were hypnotizing. All of a sudden a pairing of both emotional and physical exhaustion fell on him like a ton of bricks. Maybe he'd find a hotel room for the night._

_His eyes felt heavy with sand. They shut._

* * *

><p>Booth was sleeping when Brennan summoned the courage to enter his room a few hours later. She crept to his bedside, ready to take his hand and signal to him her silent presence when she noticed the thick bandage wrapped around the back of his palm. An oxygen mask had been strapped down over his mouth and nose. Small dots of blue bruises marked his arms. Defense wounds from the fall.<p>

"Booth." She breathed his name. She fulfilled her usual routine by taking up residence besides him in a chair. Patiently she waited for him. It wasn't too long before he came to on his own. She watched as his eyes struggled to focus and remember why the world around him was again so foreign. Finally they lit with understanding before dulling again. "Hi." She tried greeting him for a second time.

Gradually his search made his way to her. He squinted at her, showing that his eyesight had yet to improve. She scooted herself closer to his bedside. "I know you don't understand, but I'm sorry." She under toned to him.

His interest wasn't in her apology. Now that she was close enough he could properly view her stomach. Weakly he reached out his hand and rested it against the fabric of her shirt.

"_What?"_

"_I'm pregnant. You're the father."_

"Baby," Booth's voice was muffled through the mask. But she knew exactly what he was saying. "Mine."

"Yes, Booth." She broke into tears again, though these were ones of happiness. It was coming back to him!

"Girl."

"A daughter."

He smiled a little with sparkling eyes. She squeezed his hand. "We're a family. You're a part of it. You have to heal and come back to us. Anything I can do…" Her voice faded. Booth's attention had already moved on. His eyes had closed again. He stiffened, and she saw that he himself distributed more pain killing medication. Once they flooded his system his muscles released. The joy she'd felt was short lived. _But this is good, _she reminded herself. _He's remembering more. This has meaning. _However he was in pain, which nearly outweighed the good. _He's showing improvement. He'll get better. _She just needed to keep reminding herself that.

* * *

><p>Over the span of the next month Booth continued to progress daily. By the end of the time period he was able to make sentences of at least five words, if not larger. The trouble was, his vocabulary was still very limited. Often he threw uncharacteristic temper tantrums over frustration of not being able to locate the correct word choice. Brennan had been able to handle her own feelings until one afternoon he'd begun to cry soft, quiet tears. She remained with him for as long as she could before fleeing to save her own emotions.<p>

During his sleep he began to suffer bad dreams. What they were about, no one knew. All that was known were at times he would moan, and at the very worst, cry. His muscles would tighten, as though he were bracing himself for an impact. More than once he'd grown to be so distressed that he'd had to wear an oxygen mask again until he'd calmed himself.

But for Brennan, the very worst was seeing the amount of pain he experienced. Multiple times a day he was reaching for the remote to dope himself up. Dr. Mullins had insisted to Brennan such chronic pain was expected. The knowledge did nothing to ease her mind.

Physical therapy began. Soon Booth was up ambling around the unit with the assistance of both a walker and a partner. Brennan escorted him up and down the hallways of the unit, allowing him to take his slow, shuffling time. His right leg dragged considerably behind his left. It was decided that after he was strong enough to get around on his own he would be released, though daily he would be brought back for cognitive and physical therapy. The cognitive therapy held special interest for Brennan seeing as she was still explaining the accident to Booth on a consistent basis. For whatever reason he just wasn't able to retain the information.

"Home?" He tried pleading with her again one night as she was gathering the items she'd toted with her to the hospital at the end of the night.

"Booth, I'm sorry. You're not ready yet."

"Don't make me…" He searched for the right word. "Here…"

"Stay? You have to." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be here tomorrow morning. Like always."

His response was to depress the button on the medicinal remote. She frowned deeply, but kissed him. "Good night." She turned in the doorway for one last glance back at him. It broke her heart to see that though his eyes may have been closed, he was still crying. "Soon," she whispered her promise.

Unfortunately she didn't realize what a long way he had to go.


	7. Down With The Sickness

All throughout the next day Booth was despondent. No matter how hard she tried Brennan was unable to keep his attention. His eyes would briefly land on hers before they'd skirt the room as his focus was taken by something else. No words would he speak, though she tried to engage him. She was dumb founded by the turn of events. Could he really have been that distraught over his forced recovery in the hospital? The idea seemed childish, but then again Booth wasn't in his right mind. Anything was possible.

Her next thought was that he was remembering their fight. But that didn't appear to be the case. He wasn't all out shunning her. When she tried to converse with him he'd listen. It was just that after what seemed like seconds he would move on. She was positive that if he was recalling the incident then he would have a few choice words to say to her. She didn't imagine he'd want her anywhere near him. Given that he wasn't displaying any of these signs shot down her theory.

The behavior continued. When his physical therapist arrived with a walker for his usual afternoon routine Booth disregarded her. He made no moves to even rise from his bed. She remained ever sunny. "Don't feel like it today, big guy?"

He'd turned his head away. The therapist and Brennan shared a look of worry. She departed as quietly at she came. Brennan leaned into Booth's personal space. "Booth, what is it? What's going on with you?"

He wouldn't answer. She almost didn't expect him to. It wasn't until dinner came that she realized the truth.

Over time he'd graduated to solid foods. His appetite hadn't been well but he'd still attempted to consume something for the sake of his recovery. Tonight he wouldn't touch it. The meal was macaroni and cheese so she knew the choice wasn't an issue. "Booth-" She started to pose a question when it came to her. He wasn't angry. He was depressed. Dr. Mullins had warned her in the beginning of all the possible side effects of his injury. Depression and suicidal thoughts were one of them.

"Are you upset because you can't come home?" She asked delicately. He wouldn't look in her direction. "Booth, if things were different I'd do what I could to bring you home and take care of you. But I can't manage it along with my pregnancy. I couldn't appropriately divide my attention. It wouldn't be fair to you or the baby. Your recovery would be hindered."

His answer was to wiggle himself down further underneath his sheets. He winced as he lifted his arm towards him, particularly towards his head. The extension of his arm only stretched so far. His arm flopped back down to his side. But soon he was reaching again. The behavior was unsettling. "Booth? Did you hear me at all?"

He distributed himself a dose of pain medication. A strong one, she determined by the way his thumb lingered on the button. There was only so much he could receive at a time. But his short bursts were noticeable compared to this long one. His head laid back on his pillow. He exhaled a hard sigh. She saw a bit of sweat on his forehead. "Booth-"

Back again he was trying to bring his hand to his head. She tried to understand his actions. "Is your head bothering you? Has the pain gotten worse? Should I get Dr. Mullins?"

His arm dropped lower. _His neck, _she determined. But why? There was the likeliness it'd become stiff from being in bed for so long. Perhaps he'd slept on it wrong. All day he hadn't exactly moved it as he'd remained in bed. Carefully she guided his arm back to his side. Then she set to it herself to massage him. Only the moment she touched him he yelped a sound she'd never heard before. A cry of pain. Booth was always silent about his aches, complaining at times but certainly never so vocal.

He breathed deeper in faster increments. Brennan was in disbelief over his reaction. She'd hardly brushed her fingers against him. Was this some injury just now showing itself for the first time? Doubtful. All she could think of was whiplash, and that would have been apparent long before now. Had something in his back gotten damaged during his walking escapades?

He tried to dope himself up higher on pain medication. She removed the remote from his hand. "No, Booth. No more." She didn't think he could get any more, but didn't want to risk his accidental death just in case. "Just rest."

He moaned a dreadful sound. Brennan recoiled. _Should I get his doctor? Or a nurse? This isn't typical, even for him. _Gradually she lowered herself into a chair. For the remaining hours she had with him he dozed somewhere in between two different states of mental comprehension. The painkillers had enacted and done their job, but not entirely. He still was feeling some sort of low grade pain. Constantly he was still trying to rub his neck.

Visiting hours ended. She stood to say goodbye. "I have to leave now. I'll be back first thing in the morning." She was slightly disappointed when he didn't voice his usual request to go home with her. Something was most definitely wrong that she needed to keep watch over. He turned his head in the opposite direction again when she tried to kiss him. Her heart crashed through her chest. "Okay. Goodnight." She murmured lamely. On her way to her car she couldn't help but to cry. Why was he dismissing her? What could she do about it?

What she didn't know was Booth had every reason for his behavior.

* * *

><p>Brennan woke the next morning feeling refreshed and determined. Today would be the day she was dead set on snapping him out of his depression. If it was necessary she'd strap him in a wheelchair and walk him outside for some fresh air. Whatever needed to be done to renew his appeal in life, she'd be willing to do.<p>

She showered and allowed herself some time for breakfast. Her baby kicked happily all during the morning activities. Brennan seized on the enjoyment. She let that power her personality as she strode into the hospital hours later. Her gait was upbeat. Her shoulders were thrown back in confidence. She'd get Booth back. She knew she could do it.

But she was completely unprepared for what awaited her. Booth's heart was beating too fast. The rapid sounds of his monitor stole her awareness before she even looked at him. When she did, she was surprised at how badly he was sweating. His hospital gown was near soaked with perspiration. She was about to approach him when he vomited into a bed pain. He didn't have much to expel. In reclining back he couldn't quite make it to his pillow. He collapsed on the side of his bed, laying flat out and panting.

"What's going on?" A nurse burst in.

"That's what I'd like to know." Brennan shot back irritably.

"You're not supposed to be in here." She tugged her out into the hallway. "This door was supposed to be closed."

"Well, it wasn't."

"Did you kiss him? Or exchange bodily fluids in any way?"

Brennan blinked hard. What odd questions. This nurse was absurd. "No. Where is Dr. Mullins? I'd like to speak with him."

"We can have him paged. He's been waiting on Mr. Booth's pending test results."

"What results? I demand someone give me some answers!"

"If you'd like to have a seat-"

"I'm not going anywhere." Brennan promised haughtily. She sat herself down in a seat just outside Booth's room. Her arms wrapped possessively around her stomach. Through the wall she could hear his stifled groans. For help? She shivered when she called up the scene she'd just walked into. What happened overnight?

Fifteen minutes passed before Brennan looked up to a shadow standing over her. Dr. Mullins appeared exhausted. "Hi, Dr. Brennan."

"What's wrong with Booth?" She didn't desire to waste any time.

"I've been waiting on the results of a spinal tap before coming to speak with you."

"Spinal tap." She mimicked, as though the words were alien to her. "What's happened?"

"Tests have come back conclusive for bacterial meningitis."

_Meningitis? _Bacterial, no less? "How?"

"It's likely at some point bacteria got into his head wound."

"Head wound?" She was beginning to sound like a parrot. For the first time she realized she'd never asked the specific details to his injuries before.

"Well, yes. I think I told you we'd had to do surgery to relieve pressure in his brain when he was brought in. He also had an open head wound. We've been changing his bandage daily and it's been noted that that particular laceration has been slow to heal. Bacteria has now caused the infection."

_Yesterday he knew he was sick. _That had been precisely why he refused to let her kiss him. He hadn't known how to communicate it verbally. But his shaken brain had known all was not right. _He may not comprehend us, but he's still doing his best to protect us. _She rubbed her stomach. "What treatment are you prescribing?" She knew bacterial meningitis carried the potential of being lethal.

"Aggressive antibiotics and some steroids. Also complete isolation with the exception of medical staff."

Her eyes watered at the thought. "But I can go in with a surgical mask and scrubs."

Dr. Mullins was already shaking his head. "It's too risky for all parties concerned."

"You don't understand. He'll know I'm not there. I have to be with him."

The doctor nodded in sympathy. "I do understand. But honestly, his fever is high. Between his brain injury and illness he hardly knows up from down at the moment. Your presence won't have any valuable meaning for him. It's just too high of a risk for you and your child. I can't allow it."

Tough words they were to hear. But she accepted it.

"Hey," Dr. Mullins lowered his voice. "This is just a complication. It is far from the end for him. We'll get him through this and back on track. It'll just take a little longer."

She floated away from the doctor and back to the door closing off Booth's room. Inside she peeked in at him. _Just hold on, Booth. We're coming._


	8. Set Fire To The Rain

Not being able to see Booth didn't chase Brennan away from taking up residence at the hospital every day. Outside his room she waited from the time visiting hours began until they ended. Should a doctor or nurse pass by her she'd tried to get their attention with expressions of heart break in hopes someone would take pity on her. She'd do anything to get her way. Unfortunately, no one budged on their stance. The only courtesy Dr. Mullins would extend her was keeping her in the loop. He gave her updates on his condition daily, sometimes even hourly.

For two days Booth remained in a powerful fever that didn't want to break. It resisted against the drugs coursing through him to treat it. Dr. Mullins only increased Brennan's torment when he mentioned that Booth had been asking for her, calling out for her in the worst of his jibberish fits. "See? He knows I'm not there." She'd sprung to her feet (as well as she could). "You have to let me see him!"

"Dr. Brennan, I just don't think-"

"He's been on antibiotics. I will wear scrubs and a surgical mask. As long as he doesn't sneeze or cough on me I should be fine. He needs me. I accept all the risks and repercussions. But I must see him."

Dr. Mullins seemed to sense it was a losing fight. Soon Brennan was changing into a pair of oversized scrub pants and shirt. She pulled her hair up into a surgical hat. Just outside Booth's room Dr. Mullins handed her a mask and gloves. "Isn't this going a bit overboard?" She snapped the latex on over her hands.

"Maybe. I'm just taking all precautions."

Brennan strapped the mask over her nose and mouth. Inside her stomach her daughter was kicking at her merrily. She would never admit the foolishness of the thought to anyone, but Brennan liked to believe that was her way of communicating with her. The baby wanted to "see" her daddy just as much as she did.

After a few last minute instructions Dr. Mullins permitted Brennan inside. The room was darkened save for a few lights. The shock of the room's chilliness gave her goosebumps. She knew both of these adjustments were to help ease Booth's symptoms, the fever as well as light sensitivity. Quietly she slid her feet across the floor up to his bed. It was difficult, but she raised her eyes from the floor to look at him.

Since the last time she'd been with him he hadn't improved much. He was still beat red and perspiring abundant amounts. His breathing was fast and harsh. The only difference between then and now was his lack of vomiting. He cringed and shifted himself against his pillows. "Bones-zuh." He sighed in a voice that sounded nothing like his.

"I'm here, Booth." She gripped his hand, hating the barriers between them. In disappointment she realized after a moment that Booth's doctor had been right. Booth may have been asking for her, but he was oblivious to her company. He rattled on more feverish words that made no sense but to himself. Only at the end she clearly heard one word. "Die?" She questioned, feeling her body go numb.

"Don't."

"Don't? Don't what?" She waited for him to repeat himself. "Don't die, Booth?"

More unintelligible jabber. Then, "can't die."

"That's right. You can't."

He winced, his back arching from his pillows before settling down again. To one side his head flopped. "Sick-cuh."

"I know you are." She agreed sadly. "You're very ill. But you need to keep fighting." It occurred to her that he was likely unaware of what he was fighting for. Did her touch have any meaning to him in his current state? Would their baby's movement hold any value? Had all the progress they'd made come undone?

"Boneszuh." He moaned. She turned away as he coughed straight into his pillow. He then slipped a few inches down in bed. His entire body shook. "Home." He whimpered.

"I know you want to go home. I'm sorry." _He gets through this and I will give him anything he wants._

She stayed with him until a nurse retrieved her with the indication that her time with him had run out. Back home that night at her own apartment she ran a bubble bath, slipping her body down inside the warmth. And there she let herself cry with worry. The meningitis wasn't the hospital's fault but she still badly wanted to blame them. The ice and fog and careless drivers were at fault for Booth's accident. The hospital was at fault for allowing germs to get into Booth's wounds. Everyone was to blame but herself. Deep down she knew this wasn't true. It was all her fault.

If only she could erase time. She'd take back at night. She'd deal with her irrational, hormonal feelings before viciously attacking an exhausted man who wasn't expecting them. It bothered her that only she carried the memory, and wounded her even more knowing that until he got his memory back (if he ever properly did) she could never apologize to him appropriately. She'd never be able to convey how she hadn't meant a single word she'd said. And when he did begin to remember, would he push her away? Had she fractured them beyond the point of repair?

Booth loved her, and their baby. But he'd near killed himself in trying to get away from the pain she'd caused him. He never backed down, and her words had sent him scurrying for cover. Accident or no, it meant something to her. "I have to fix this." She whispered out loud. "I have to show him how loved he is."

* * *

><p><em>Booth was clearly speechless. "Wha… like what? Why don't you want to give up your apartment?"<em>

_It was a status of security. Booth had been gone almost twenty four hours hunting down a man who could have easily killed him. One shot could have brought his life to a complete end. Laying awake solo at home had stirred her thoughts. What if something happened to him? Yes, she loved him. But life had proven to her over and over again that relationships were fleeting. In that moment her mind had simply forgotten the familiarity of the man she loved. She was blinded by her fear. "I need it. Just in case."_

_He took a step towards her. "Just in case, what? I'm not going anywhere, Bones."_

"_You don't have to be involved in our child's life. I told you this before. I'm perfectly capable of raising her on my own."_

"_Are you kidding me?" He gasped a strained chuckle._

"_I wouldn't require any money from you-"_

"That's _what you're thinking about right now?" _

"_I'm just saying, Booth. I don't need you." After she spoke it she knew it was a complete lie._

* * *

><p>In the end Booth worsened before he turned a page for the better. He'd nearly succumbed to the invading infection. Brennan spent as much time as she was allowed with him. She couldn't help noticing that after the illness had taken him so deep he no longer attempted to speak or move, they gave her longer periods of time. <em>They think he's going to die. <em>She'd squeezed his hand. "Why is this so difficult for you? Come on, Booth."

For two more days he laid dormant before he began to recover. Within hours he opened his eyes. In a day he was speaking in broken sentences again. By the end of the week he'd been transferred out of ICU and into a regular hospital room. There he was left to rest and recuperate until the following week, when his schedule of therapy intensified. Suddenly Brennan's time alone with him was violated. In the morning a speech pathologist would work with him for hours on words and phrases. Once afternoon came around he was up pacing the unit with a walker, Brennan a permanent fixture by his side. Daily his legs were strengthening. His right leg still moved with a considerable limp. But Booth was otherwise getting along just fine.

Which was why his physical therapist began bringing him into the rehabilitation area of the hospital. Really, the room was nothing more than a gym with an attached wave pool. There she had him lift various weights within reason to continue the development of his muscles. Afterwards in the sanctuary of his room he'd shoot himself full of painkillers first thing. Then he'd sleep for hours while Brennan watched over him. It didn't suggest itself to her that turmoil was brewing under his exterior until it was too late. Later she realized she'd missed his warning signs.

His speech therapist was pushing him through a set of difficult words. The end of the session was nearing. Booth had suffered through a difficult night in which he'd hardly slept. His mood was sour, and if he'd had his way he would have isolated himself from everyone. Over and over the woman repeated herself as he unsuccessfully struggled along with her. His frustration was reaching a boiling point. He glanced over to Brennan for help. She was reading a book, trying to let the therapist do her job without too much interference. Tears plucked his eyes. Didn't she care?

"Come on, Booth. Don't quit on me. Just one more word and we're done. I know you can do it."

_No. Done. _He thought to himself. He exploded in the only way his altered mental state knew how to express himself into making others listen; he turned inwardly abusive.

The flurry of movement drew Brennan's eye before his therapist could comment. "Booth!" She threw down her book, jumping in between the two. She took a firm grasp of his hands. He went defenseless. Damage though had already been done. Blood spill tainted his arm.

"I'll get his doctor-"

"There's no need." Brennan wiped off his arm with a tissue from her purse. "I think he just tore off a few scabs." She was sure she saw a scratch from his fingernails, but chose to ignore it. "But he's done."

"Sur-sure. We can pick this up again tomorrow."

"We'll see." Brennan bit back. She continued to apply pressure to his arm while the therapist recovered her items and retreated. Booth settled back against his pillows. He was panting heavily.

"You could have really hurt yourself." She chided him. "Your bones are still mending. It'll be-" She stopped herself as he shut his eyes and depressed the remote button to flood his system with painkillers. "Booth, what is it?" She asked gently. "What happened?"

"Home." He slurred tiredly.

"I know." She stroked his forehead. He was worn out, and he was discouraged. The walls confining him to his unknown atmosphere were slowly driving him insane. She didn't blame him for any of his feelings. _Why couldn't he come home? _She remained hovering over him. _As long as he has a walker he can walk without me on his own. He's eating. He no longer requires the use of a respirator. I'm sure there's some sort of mask I could get for him if he did need oxygen at home. We'll get medication to manage his pain. I could successfully take care of all of us now. _During the day he'd return to the hospital for treatment. But at night she was sure she could handle being in charge of him. "We'll get you home," she promised, kissing his forehead.


	9. Almost Doesn't Count

Brennan was met with the resistance she'd been expecting when she informed Dr. Mullins of her intentions. The doctor's jaw had gone slack. "Dr. Brennan, he is nowhere near ready to leave."

"The only change will be that he spends the nights with me. Otherwise he will spend his days here like always."

"But there's still so much-"

"Doctor, I respect your expertise but I know him, even this new version of him. He's getting frustrated. Without the appropriate change I firmly believe he'll quit on us soon." She replayed the scene with Booth's speech therapist. "This happened because we weren't listening, or paying attention. I got his message. Home is where he needs to be."

Dr. Mullins wasn't budging on his stance. "I can appreciate the messages he's relaying to you. But he's going through intense physical and psychological trauma. Are you equipped to handle all his needs, even if its just overnight?"

"I am confident that being back home among familiarity will greatly improve his symptoms. So, yes."

The doctor removed his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I can't prevent you from signing him out. But I have to say, I think you're making a mistake. He isn't ready."

"Why? He's able to walk on his own with the assistance of a walker. He's-"

"Emotionally." Dr. Mullins interrupted her. "Behaviorally. If his outburst is any indication then his maturity level hasn't recovered enough to deal with the swift changes you plan on subjecting him to. That's part of the damage, and what he needs to relearn."

"When he's back in his element he'll gain the confidence he once had to relearn to deal with situations appropriately."

"Dr. Brennan, if what you said is true, if he's resorted to taking his frustrations out on himself-"

She was losing her patience. "He will be fine, once he is home with me. I am signing him out. Our discussion is over." She turned away to march into Booth's hospital room. While she was arranging all the necessary papers she figured he could be readying himself to leave. In preparation that morning she'd brought a fresh change of clothes for him as well as a few personal care items along in a duffel bag.

He was asleep, as she'd come to expect. She leaned over his body and softly spoke his name. The timing of his responses to others hadn't changed. For a second time she'd had to repeat herself before his eyes blinked open. They found her after drifting aimlessly for a minute, narrowing at once into a squint.

"I'm taking you home." She grinned. "There's forms that need to be signed, which I can do if you give permission. In the meantime I brought some things for you." She held up his bag.

He offered absolutely no reaction. No words, or facial expression. Brennan pulled back, alarmed. This had been what he'd been seeking. His supreme desire to go home was the last thought he'd said that night before. She was about to speak again when he weakly pushed himself into a sitting position, exhaling roughly as he did so. He reached for the bag, setting it in his lap.

"Can you dress yourself?" She realized then her plan didn't have the potential to go as smoothly as she'd planned.

As he could barely work the zipper on the bag she took the answer to be a no. The next half an hour was spent dressing him. Brennan was just as winded as he was by the time he stood before her in a pair of jeans and a loose fitting shirt. Luckily it wasn't until then that Dr. Mullins had arrived with the proper discharge papers. Booth sat himself back down on the edge of his bed. He listened dully to post care instructions, leaving both in his presence wondering as to how much he was actually absorbing. Signing his name was another issue. He could only just scribble more than a few letters. The muscles in his right hand and arm were still frail. Three forms later he was already handing the pen off to Brennan. He then mutely excused himself into the bathroom.

With Brennan finishing the forms their time was officially done. Dr. Mullins shook her hand. "Good luck."

"He'll be fine," she said assuredly, though who she was trying to reassure was debatable.

The doctor had no more stepped out before she heard the sound of something heavy striking the bathroom door. Brennan hurried to him. "Booth?" She gave three knocks before entering.

Booth had his back pressed against the wall. He was staring at his image reflecting in the mirror. Wide and distressed were his eyes.

"Booth, wha-" _He hasn't seen himself since the accident. _She swallowed. Compared to how he'd looked when he'd been admitted, his physical appearance had bettered. His blackened eyes had faded, leaving light traces of purple by his nose. The abrasions on his face were healing. He'd lost weight as evidenced by the shirt she'd given him. But she had a hunch it was the white bandage covering his head that gave him the scare. "Wha… happen…" He breathed.

"Car accident?" Brennan questioned him lamely, hoping a reminder had stuck in his damaged mind. His dead, clueless stare told her all she needed to know. _He's just not understanding it. Why? He's retaining other information. _She took his hand. "Are you finished? We should leave."

The drive home was silent. Brennan had chose to base them primarily out of his apartment while he recovered. The space was sure to contain more memories for him than hers would have. After parking she led him inside, walking slow to take consideration of his disability. He used his walker to limp along behind her into the lobby. There he stopped dead. A set of stairs loomed over him. He gaped at them as though they led to the gateway to hell.

"Booth? Elevator." Brennan pointed. _Obviously he remembers he lives on the second floor. _

By now he was beginning to struggle. The short walk from the car had utterly exhausted him. He got into the elevator. His walker was abandoned as he entwined his fingers into the elevator's rusted steel bars of decoration. The leverage took the pressure off his lower body to keep himself upright. Brennan was pleased at the sight. _He's problem solving. Good sign. _

Unfortunately, he couldn't recall which apartment was his. She guided him to the front door where she undid the lock. "Welcome home, Booth." She ushered him inside.

In the living room he separated himself from her. He stood still in the middle of the throw rug he'd decorated his wooden floors with. Brennan watched with a reserved breath as his eyes swept over his surroundings. During the time she'd known him little had changed. Booth was a creature of routine. There had to be something before him that held even so much as a hint of a memory.

With those same narrowed eyes he regarded everything at a snail's pace. He remained wordless, and Brennan could read more questions in his eyes than answers. Sadly she bowed her head. _It's like his mind has just been wiped clean._

The quivering in his muscles had developed into an all out quake. By now his right leg was almost completely useless to him. Brennan caught him just before he started to sink to the floor. Their strength combined got them into the bedroom where she tucked him away in bed. She wasn't sure what to say, or if she should say anything. It bothered her how quiet he'd been all day.

His eyes were closed in minutes. Brennan removed his socks and shoes. She set to undo the button and zipper on his jeans when she paused.

_The front door slammed shut. Brennan watched Booth stroll into the room from her seated position on his couch. He went about his usual business of hanging his coat and hiding his weapon in a secluded hideaway. There was something in his mannerisms that was just telling her all was not right with him. She lifted herself from the couch towards him, standing in his way on his path to the bedroom. Up close she could definitely detect that her instinct had been correct. Before he could say a word her lips were against his. He became as malleable as silly putty. By her own doing his back was pressed against the wall of the hallway. "What are you doing?" He wondered, not at all attempting to stop her._

_She loosened his tie, dropping it to the floor. Next his dress shirt. His pants had just been unfastened and slacked from his hips when he switched them around. Now she was the one with her back against the wall. They kissed as though they hadn't seen in each in years instead of hours. Each one of their advances towards one another pushing them further to the edge. Her arms braced his broad shoulders._

_Brennan made the last leap. She made her desire clear, separating her legs and hooking one around him. "Come here," she whispered breathily. _

_He kissed her neck while lifting the bottom of the night gown she'd been wearing. "I love you," he told her just before they'd begun to make love._

_It was the first time he'd ever said it. _

Now she did her best to conceal her tears. She'd always known Booth had loved her. His actions had spoken louder than words throughout the years. But hearing him say it had broken down whatever remains were left of her walls. When they'd finished she'd been able to verbally express her love for him as well.

Once she contended he was comfortable she laid her body down besides him. It wasn't long before she too, was in a fast sleep.

* * *

><p>Her dreams took her back to the life she used to know; a life that seemed more real in contrast to the disaster it had become. She woke up elated on her fantasies. A smile was bright on her face when she reached out to Booth. She craved his affection, and drew the hope that her physical love would help him remember. Only, just as when this nightmare had begun, he wasn't there.<p>

She pushed herself up onto her rear. The bedroom was empty. His walker had been left behind next to the door. That was the only indication of him. "Booth?" She climbed out of bed. Where had he gone? And why?

He hadn't gotten far. Three steps from his bedroom and she located him laying on his couch. "Booth, why did you leave?" She approached him worriedly.

He acted as though he didn't hear her. He exhaled jagged, quick breaths. The front of his shirt was plastered to his chest with sweat. He was as pale as fresh snow. Brennan was taken aback. "Booth? What's wrong?"

His answer took longer than usual. She'd figured it out by the time he'd looked to her. His chocolate eyes screamed the truth. He was in a great deal of pain. Again he winced them shut, collapsing onto the cushions below him.

"Why didn't you wake me?" She fetched her purse. Inside was the oxycodone the hospital had sent them home with. She poured out a pill, and fed it to him with a full glass of water. "You shouldn't still be in this much pain."

Minutes felt like hours until it inflicted its effect. His weakened breathing was the first indication. The next his drooping eyelids. His body softened and turned limp. He was out like a light.

_First disaster averted. I knew I could take care of him. _She pulled a blanket up over his frame. "Sleep," she urged him, kissing his forehead. Reassured she returned to her own slumber.

Dr. Mullins was wrong. She was capable of treating him. With that thought she fell into a satisfied rest.


	10. Booth Remembers

"_You don't… need me?" Booth's expression mirrored that of someone who'd had a knife plunged through their chest. "You obviously needed me for something." He gestured to her stomach._

"_I just… I just don't think this arrangement is going to work."_

"_It's been working up until now."_

"_I was pretending it was. For your sake."_

_He shook his head briskly. "Bones, where is this coming from? Why are you acting like this?"_

"_I told you-"_

"_You're scared." He accused. "Every day your due date is getting closer, and you're getting cold feet. I get that. But you can't make any big decisions right now, all right? Don't do anything without me."_

"_I want to be on my own, Booth. I need to be."_

* * *

><p>"Booth? Can you give me five more reps?"<p>

He didn't move a single muscle.

"Booth? Can you hear me?"

First thing in the morning Brennan had woken Booth, preparing him for his return day trip to the hospital. All night he'd managed to sleep with no disturbance. However when he'd woken he'd had trouble recalling where he was. The day before had been lost somewhere in the abyss of his mind. Without a walker he'd been able to hobble around with mild success. The layout and details of his apartment remained unfamiliar to him. Trying to make a bowl of cereal had turned into a half an hour pursuit.

Afterwards Brennan had driven him to the hospital to begin his day. Physical therapy was up first. With little enthusiasm he'd begun his routine under careful watch of his therapist. Now Booth had quit his exercise abruptly middle way through his session. His back rested against the leather seat of the weight machine his therapist had sat him behind not quite an hour ago. Now he gave no indication that he was even aware of the world around him. His eyes had lost their focus. She was unsure as to how to help him. "Booth?" She leaned down on one knee besides him.

He winced.

_A horn stole Booth out his unconscious rest. He lifted his head just as the steel broken wreckage of several burning cars came into sight. At a dangerous speed he was heading straight for it. His mind reacted more than it thought. From the accelerator his foot jammed on the brake. The Suburban didn't slow, and the faint feeling of panic prickled his insides. With no option of a plan B he spun the wheel._

Booth near tilted off the machine. He started gasping feverishly. His body hardened as though he was enduring physical abuse. His head dropped, his chin tucked into his chest.

"Hey, Cassie? Can you get some help? I think something's going on with my patient."

Hands laid on Booth's skin. "Are you in pain?"

He managed a feeble nod. Images flashed across his vision. Fire burning black smoke up against the lit city skyline. A twisted silver metal guardrail. Red slimy blood coating the object his head was laying against. Brennan standing before him, eyes ablaze with emotion. A rocket of dizziness propelled him sideways. Distantly he could feel someone catch him and place him down onto the floor. Uncontrollably he began to tremble.

"_Don't do this, Bones."_

"_You don't understand."_

_He took her by the waist. "I love you."_

"_Sometimes that's not enough."_

A cold, wet cloth passed over his arm. The brief pinch of a needle didn't bring him back to reality. The shaking grew worse. His eyes rolled. Though he was sure he could hear voices overhead their words were blotted out. Jibberish.

_The edge of the bridge came rushing at him. His attention was solely on the black murky water waiting to accept him into its grave, which was why he was unprepared for the violent collision against the guard rail. In his careless rage he'd never strapped himself in. Forward he flew, straight into the steering wheel._

"Booth!"

The frantic voice opened his eyes. Brennan was kneeling over him. "Booth," she repeated softer, touching his cheek.

His eyes remained on her as he passed out cold.

* * *

><p>Brennan was stone cold numb as she was led from the gym into a private hospital room. An aid sat her down in a chair. "You can wait in here. They'll be running some tests on him, and then likely be brought back here upon admission."<p>

She could barely nod. Once she was completely isolated the tears arrived. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried so hard in public. The scene she'd walked in on wasn't one she was about to get over. Booth had laid convulsing on the floor while therapists did what they could to assist him. "What happened?" She'd near screamed at them.

No one had an answer for her. A stretcher arrived. He was whisked away to be assessed. Updated tests and images were to be run. Brennan couldn't stand waiting but knew it was for the best. Only the longer he was away the more time she had to suffer through; the greater she mentally tortured herself.

After a few hours he was returned. His eyes were slit open. She took up his hand, his name on the tip of her tongue when she stopped. Booth wasn't conscious of her. Something had taken place within him that had temporarily shut him down. Touching him, speaking to him, it was all invaluable. Nothing would reach him in the place he'd gone to. "What happened to you?" She mumbled to herself.

Hours came and went. Booth emerged from his fog long enough to administer himself another dose of pain killers. Then he slipped deep into a coma like sleep.

She was nearing sleep herself when Dr. Mullins arrived. By then her head had tipped forward onto Booth's bed. Her forehead was resting next to his arm. Carefully she sat herself up. Sans a greeting, she waited for the man to speak.

"He had some sort of event in the brain. I believe he suffered a mild seizure in amidst his physical therapy today."

She scrunched her eyes shut. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of. As much as it bothered her she was thankful it had happened at the hospital, where assistance was administered immediately, instead of at home. Perhaps she'd jumped the gun in her sureness of his recovering health. "What is the plan from here? What's the next step in his treatment?"

"Relaxation. Right now I plan to just let him rest. Judging by what I find in the next few days I can make more concrete plans. But right now," the doctor glanced to where Booth was snoring quietly. "I think we need to back off him some. Let him have some room to breathe."

"You think we were pushing him too hard?"

"Yes. It's a possibility, among other things. Perhaps this was a storm brewing and waiting to reach land. The mind is tricky. Unpredictable. I sense the severity of his damage hasn't completely revealed itself yet. But I'm confident he'll recover."

Brennan was unsure of what to think. Recovery seemed to be an objectionable word. By now she was beginning to suspect that the two had very different ideas as to what "recovery" was for Booth.

* * *

><p>"<em>Since when? Our love has always been enough."<em>

"_Booth, you need to just accept the truth. I'm better equipped to take care of our child. Rationally, it makes more sense-"_

"_For a child to have her father in her life!" He turned his back on her, tracing his steps methodically. "So that's it? You want to just throw away everything we have together? You don't want me in your life?"_

"_Of course I do. We can still be partners, and I won't prevent you from seeing her."_

"_Really, Bones? You're really going to stand there and say that to me?"_

"_Booth, you're being foolish. You're misunderstanding what I'm saying."_

* * *

><p>A day dragged by on tired hours before Booth at last coerced his eyes open again. His mind was completely empty as to where he was; what had happened to him. All while he'd been out he'd been dreaming, and his visions had seemed so vivid. So real. Had they been?<p>

"Booth?"

The voice sounded so familiar to him. It took much effort for him to turn his eyes in the direction of the voice. Brennan was posed right by his side. Her hand was resting on his. His eyes dropped down to see.

"Booth? Can you hear me?"

_You… didn't want me. _He loosened his grip from hers. Blindly he searched for the well known pain controlling remote until he found it, immediately injecting himself. His whole body seemed to sink into itself with his sigh. Hard edges softened. His hand collapsed back down at his side.

Brennan didn't like what she was seeing. "Booth-"

The sound of her voice had him reaching again for medication. She pried his hand away before he could act out his impulse. "No. No more." From her grip he tried to separate himself. "Booth," she gasped. Carefully she brushed her palm across his forehead. "What is it? What's wrong?"

No matter what happened between them she'd always been able to read him through his eyes. His body language, his vocal tone, these she often overlooked if they were treated with enough subtly. But his eyes always gave him away.

Which was how she knew as soon as he looked to her that he remembered. It'd all come back to him.

He knew.


	11. Getting Stronger

Brennan hadn't been able to spend another moment with him. She'd choked out an excuse about having a doctor's appointment. From there she fled to the safety of her vehicle. She sat behind the wheel and fought tears of fright and melancholy. Her thoughts had been foretelling. Booth remembered everything, and judging by the intense look of hate in his eyes he had no desire to have her around him. _Two days ago I had this situation under control. I never thought his memory would return to him so fast given the circumstances. _She wiped her tears. The real question on her mind was, now what? Down the middle she was divided in two. Part of her was too afraid to step back into his room and deal with the severe emotions that awaited her. But the other side of her knew she'd never be able to do it. Her fight with him and the subsequent events afterwards had more than proven how much she needed him in her life. It wasn't just for their child, either. She'd never be able to survive a normal life without him.

She went home and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. Then she dialed the only one besides Booth she knew she could turn to.

Angela answered after a few rings. The woman hadn't barely greeted her best friend before the story came tumbling out of Brennan's mouth. "He remembers, Ange. And he hates me. What can I do?"

"Be honest with him, sweetie. Just like you were with me. Explain it was a mistake. We all make them."

"But most mistakes don't cause others to nearly lose their lives in car crashes."

Still, Brennan took her words and went with them. Overnight she let the situation settle. As soon as visiting hours begun the next morning Brennan was there, ready and willing. She was prepared for the worst and hoped for a better outcome. When she entered Booth's room she was startled by what lay before her. Booth was asleep, but obviously suffering from a nightmare. He exhaled roughly in a fast rhythm. His body twitched uncontrollably. In his throat he made a peculiar whining sound she'd never heard before.

"Booth!" She descended upon him. "Wake up! Booth, it's just a nightmare!"

Given the violence of his dream she was surprised he roused with such little effort. He twisted away from her as he opened his eyes. After a moment he collapsed onto his back. His damaged chest was trying desperately to keep up with the frantic pace of his heart beat. With dark, deadened eyes he looked to Brennan.

"Hi," she said softly.

"What… happen…" He slurred breathlessly after a long pause.

"You had a bad dream."

Again his response was delayed. His eyes squeezed shut. "No. What… happen…"

All it took was a moment for her determination to be eradicated. "You were in a car accident. Don't you remember?" She paused. "What do you remember? Do you remember yesterday?"

Clearly, he didn't. All that had taken place before that moment had been lost. She touched the cool skin on his hand. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He couldn't answer her. Not because he didn't remember, only because he couldn't articulate it. His answer to her was to give himself a dose of painkillers. He sighed and allowed the drugs to steady his beating heart. All throughout him he could feel it throbbing with the pain of what he'd endured. A car accident? That didn't seem right. Nothing seemed correct. Up was down and down was up. His world had been knocked topsy turvey. His eyes closed. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"Booth!" He was floating away from her. She was beginning to have a strong resentment for his ability to escape her, escape his situation, through drugs. Though at this time it didn't occur to her that this was a problem. "Stay awake! Please!"

Her pleading wasn't fruitful. Minutes passed and he was sound asleep once again. She only stayed with him for so long before she showed herself out. This was definitely not the confrontation she'd planned on. Booth couldn't retain the most important knowledge. How could she work on repairing the damage when he hadn't the slightest clue of their lives together?

Angela called later on in the afternoon to see how the conversation with Booth had went. After a five minute chat she was on Brennan's welcome mat with two pints of ice cream she'd picked up at the store. Brennan smiled. "Ice cream doesn't fix everything."

"No." She invited herself in. "But it's a start."

Together they sat down on Brennan's sofa. While eating Brennan went into her story in more depth. Angela narrowed her eyes in careful thought and licked her spoon. "I'm not a therapist or a doctor but it sounds to me like he's blocking."

"Blocking?" Her ice cream was melting faster than she could eat it. Her stomach was too upset. "I don't know what that means."

"It means, he doesn't _want_ to remember. Everything you've described to me about the crash sounds horrific. I can't imagine how terrified he must have felt. It's too much for his brain to handle so it's not letting him. The same goes with you. That whole night is just too painful for him. So it's been erased. Think about it." She took another bite. "His memory and comprehension are getting better, right? He can sort of talk as long as they're one syllable words. The day he starts remembering he has a seizure. He wakes up and remembers enough to hate you," she smirked, trying to indicate to her friend she was joking. "But in the morning? Gone again. Just like that." She snapped her fingers.

Brennan pushed the carton away from her. She wedged the spoon sticking straight up into the air into the center. "How do I get him to stop? He needs to remember." _I need to fix us._

"Intense therapy. Sweetie, this isn't something you can just fix. It's not a situation where he knows how you are and is just willing to let it go with little resistance. He doesn't know how you are. He barely knows _who _you are. You're just going to have to wait for him to be ready."

Her stomach truly soured when she spoke what was on her mind. "What if he never is, Ange? What if this is permanent? What if this is as far as he can go?"

Angela tilted her head. "Do you really believe that this is all he has in him? The man who has so much fire and heart?"

"He doesn't know that man. No one does, except us."

Angela shook her head no. "It was his mind that's been damaged, Brennan. Not his heart. He'll find his way home. He'll find his way back to you. It may take a little time. But it'll happen."

* * *

><p>It was hard to put faith in Angela's words. For the next few days every time Brennan visited Booth in the hospital, he was asleep. Or he was readying to drift off. At last she approached Dr. Mullins. "I know you prescribed rest for him but he's sleeping almost all the time. Is this because of the seizure?"<p>

"At this point, no. And it only a mild seizure he experienced."

Brennan pursed her lips. "Perhaps it's time I try bringing him home again. He was doing all right until he was here in physical therapy."

Dr. Mullins was unsure of the course of action to take. He too, had noticed how much his patient was resting. "I guess we could try discharging him into your care. He's not relying on any medical needs at the moment. As long as he returns for therapy-"

She'd never let him miss. Firmly, she nodded in agreement. "Of course."

And so, an hour later she was bringing Booth back home. As days charged by the change of scenery proved to do him good. There was recognition in his eyes now as he hobbled around his apartment. Preparing food was a much easier task, though he didn't seem to eat much. At night he slept in bed with her, not seeming to mind that she cuddled up tight to him. He showed little affection, which Brennan hadn't been expecting anyway. It was another behavior he simply needed to "relearn."

Every weekday he attended both physical and vocational therapy. Try as he might he still struggled with speaking. At home he said little to her, and when he did it was simple words and phrases that he used. His physical body seemed to be strengthening faster than his mind. As evidenced by one afternoon when she'd arrived early to pick him up from the hospital. Though his vocational therapy was in the afternoon it'd been canceled for that day.

She'd entered the gym to find him front and center. He was laying on his back against a puffy rubber mat. A woman stood over him bending his leg back at the knee and pushing it upwards towards his chest. Trouble was she was inflicting more damage than doing any good. Slightly she had his leg twisted. Booth wasn't making any comments but knowing him like she did, Brennan knew he was in pain. "Stop! You're hurting him!" She flew to the couple as fast as a pregnant woman could.

The trainer released her hold. Booth's foot fell flat onto the mat. He pushed himself up into a seated position with his good arm. A few more weeks were all he had left before the cast on his wrist was due to come off.

"He's all right. Therapy is painful sometimes, unfortunately."

"Your form was incorrect. You were harming him. He's not ready for that kind of rigorous training."

"Oh really?" She planted a hand on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to show her what you did today?" She directed her inquiry at Booth.

The command took its time reaching him. When it did Brennan watched in amazement as he rolled onto his stomach. He lifted himself into a position that resembled a one armed push up. The stance then changed to that of a runner's. Gradually and far from gracefully he got his feet under him and rose to his full height. Without assistance he was standing on his own. His strides to her were still a bit awkward. But his limping days were gone. His leg fully supported his weight.

"Booth." She gasped. Unable to help the flood of emotion she wrapped her arms around him. He was unsure of what to do with her affection and so at first he froze up. But gradually his tense muscles began to soften. When she pulled away he was smiling proudly.

"I'm Rachel, by the way. I'll be working with him." His trainer announced snidely.

Brennan cast an eye over the woman's perfectly formed athletic body for the first time. Her glowing tan was set off by the blue spandex she wore. Her blond hair was piled high on top of her head in a ponytail. _Wonderful. _"He's finished for the day?"

"Yes, we're done." She patted Booth's shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Brennan took Booth straight home. He still required the elevator to get to his apartment, which was expected. Inside she could see how fast his strength was depleting. His winced from pain as well. There was no saying what other abuse his trainer had put his body through.

She led him into their bedroom and laid him down on their mattress. From the night stand she removed the bottle of oxycodone from one of the drawers. He eagerly accepted it, draining the full glass of water she handed him. She then set to work massaging his body, using various techniques of different cultures.

He grunted and made other noises of pleasure. She grinned. "You like that, huh?"

Tiredly he nodded. She relaxed him straight into a deep sleep. Then she laid down next to him, laying her head on his chest. This wasn't ideal. And as his body grew stronger day by day she knew it wouldn't be long until his mind caught up.

Then the fireworks would begin.


	12. Underneath It All

Sexual Situation. Reader Discretion Advised. (But does anyone really mind a sex scene?)

* * *

><p>Brennan took it as an entirely bad sign when she received a call from Booth's vocational therapist the following day. After a full night of sleep she'd dropped him off in the morning at the hospital before returning to the office to take care of awaiting business. It'd been approaching lunch time when she answered Dr. Rogers call, requesting her presence at the end of the day.<p>

The schedule had been switched to make room for the meeting. Therefore when Brennan arrived fifteen minutes before she was due to pick Booth up he was still in the gym undergoing physical therapy. Dr. Rogers greeted Brennan warmly and brought her into her office. "I won't keep you long since I know Rachel will be finished with him soon."

Brennan tried to keep herself upturning her nose in disdain.

"I called you here because I'm concerned. Booth's recovery isn't going nearly as smoothly as I'd hoped. He's seemed to hit a wall that's preventing him from moving forward."

This was what she'd been afraid of. "Is it just his speech?" Since he still wasn't conversing too much she had to figure that was the problem. "I thought he was improving physically."

"Yes. He continues to struggle with his cognitive abilities. Unfortunately he becomes agitated and emotional fairly quickly, as is normal for someone who's suffering from a TBI. But he shuts down from then on. He refuses to continue to try. Physically, from what Rachel is telling me he's doing remarkably. He's strengthening. His vision has mostly righted itself."

"I can work with him at home. I'm sure my assistance in collaboration with your guidance will-"

Dr. Rogers frowned regretfully. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. But I think we may need to accept the fact that his damage may be permanent."

She made some sort of choking sound that was foreign even to her ears. This woman was confirming her worst fear. "No. There's no way. He'll recover. I'll help him. We'll-"

"I'm sorry. But I must force us to be realistic. He still can't explain to me what happened to him. Any time I question him about the accident he's clueless. He hasn't the slightest idea as to how he got in this condition. His mind just rejects the information."

"You can work harder with him. I'll push him as well. If we can strengthen his body then we can fix his mind." She stood up abruptly.

"The mind will only accept what it wants to. Until he's ready to confront the memories of his accident his brain will continue to keep them locked up. I'm sorry, but he may never be ready." Dr. Rogers relented as she saw Brennan's emotions intensify. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not giving up. I'm going to do my damnedest to get his cognitive functioning restored. But I felt I needed to plant this in the back of your mind just to be prepared."

"Thank you. I'd like to go see him now." No more words were exchanged as she turned on her heel and left. Her pregnancy hormones were getting the best of her, as she was fighting tears as she blindly combed the hospital to the gym. Inside was almost a replica of the day he'd begun to walk without assistance. He was on his back on the same mat. Rachel had both his knees bent and pushed upwards into his chest. Booth was wincing, but this time it wasn't from an incorrect form. Judging by the sweat on his brow Brennan took it to be from pain. "Is he ready?" She asked cooly. The petite blond may have been helping Booth but she still couldn't have cared less for her.

"One more stretch." Rachel answered just as icy. She laid his one leg down flat while continuing to apply pressure to the other one. Her hand held onto the inside of his thigh, opposite from his hip. Her strategic position was strictly for her, Brennan mustered. The ploy was working. She wanted to rip her away from him violently.

"All finished!" She announced cheerily a moment later. She set his leg down by the other one and lifted her hand in the classic "high five" gesture. "Good job!" She smiled wider when he sat up and touched her hand to his. Brennan continued to relax her facial muscles. She did not want to display what she was really feeling.

Booth stood up and limped over to her. She could see in his eyes all the strain he'd been put through. "You're in pain," she said quietly. "Are you doing this to yourself? Or is she doing it?"

He of course, was mum. Brennan leaned out around him. "You need to not push him so hard, or allow him to push himself so hard. He's in pain. He'll burn out." She remarked to Rachel.

"Who's the therapist here?" She shot back. "I know my job, Dr. Brennan."

"Do you? Because-"

"Bones." Booth lisped softly. "Lets jus' go."

She could have fought for him all day. But instead she took heed to his words and left with him. In the car he tried to rest his aching muscles. He slumped down in his seat and directed his eyes at the scenery passing by outside his window. As soon as they were in the door at home he was clamoring for the oxycodone. She went to make dinner while he collapsed on the couch. By the time she came to fetch him to eat he was out like a light. Another dinner alone. With a sigh she tuned the television onto a hockey game for him before returning to the kitchen.

She just kept thinking about her conversation with Dr. Rogers. What if their suspicions were right? What if Booth couldn't go any further with his cognitive development? He wasn't happy. That much was obvious. How could he be when every day he was forced through rigorous therapy of both the mind and body? Every day he was left broken, wondering who he was, and apparently still questioning what happened to him.

That was why Brennan was sitting on the edge of the couch next to him when he briefly woke. As usual his eyes and thoughts took their time finding her. When he saw her he smiled his boyish grin. She placed a loving hand on top of his casted one. "Booth? Do you know what happened to you? Do you understand why you're like this?"

The grin slipped. He shook his head no. She studied his face. It crushed her heart to realize he'd stopped asking her because he'd accepted his confusion as a part of his new life. It'd become an ongoing familiar problem to him, perhaps one he took comfort in as it was a constant. "You should have asked me."

"Sad." He shook his head. "I make you sad when I ask."

So he could recall her sadness, but not the incident that occurred to cause the sorrow. She exhaled and watched their hands entwine together. "You almost died in a car accident. I need you to please remember this, Booth. It's important. Your vehicle was totaled. You suffered from a great amount of injuries. Do you remember anything?"

He blinked. No. Clearly he did not. "Sad," he insisted again. He let go of her hand to touch her face. "No more talk."

It wasn't as though she could prevent him from resisting. Dismally she left him. The idea of changing clothes and slipping into something more comfortable sounded delicious to her depressed mind. Maybe she'd even take another bath. Although if she did she'd need help climbing out of his tub. As their daughter grew bigger she was encountering more problems being mobile.

In the bedroom she peeled off the leggings she'd been wearing. The flowing orange top swooped off over her shoulders. Both she folded neatly and placed on the edge of the bed. Eventually they'd make it to the hamper. But until then there was no need to be so careless with them, and drop them on the floor as Booth used to do with his own clothing. She smiled, thinking of the fights they'd gotten into before over his tidiness. She never thought she'd be missing those silly arguments.

She was standing before their dresser in nothing but her bra and panties when he started to walk in. He caught one glance at her and ducked back out with widened eyes. Out loud she laughed at his embarrassment. "Booth! Come back!"

He peeked around the door jam. His wore an expression of discomfort. But she also noticed how his eyes were drawn to her chest. They'd meet her gaze before dropping south. She told him with a wicked grin, "you can come in. You've seen me naked." She reminded him.

Gradually he stepped inside though he still wouldn't approach her. Forget dressing, she decided. Sex and intimacy was a topic they'd yet to work on. He was improving at receiving small amounts of affections. But she didn't know what his thought process was on sex. She closed in on him like she was coming close to a frightened deer. "Do you remember?"

He continued to run his gaze over the length of her. She loosened her bra and let it drop to the floor. In surprise he jerked up straight. Keeping her eyes on his the entire time, she brought his hand to her chest and allowed him to feel her. She guided his touch everywhere she desired it to go. "Do you remember?" She repeated again breathlessly. "I know you know I'm pregnant with your daughter. We have a sexual relationship, which we both enjoy immensely." She'd never felt so much fervor with another person.

He ran his hand over her collarbone without her leading him before dipping it down to cup one of her breasts. As a reward she kissed him, flicking her tongue past his lips. He knew enough to open his mouth. She heard him inhale roughly. _Now we're getting somewhere._ "Explore me." She whispered encouragement to him.

He didn't hide his reluctance, and so she refused to drive him any further. All his movements now were to be of his own doing. She wanted him to take his time and remember everything that had made them special. So she waited patiently. Secretly she hoped he'd be willing to go every bit as far as she did. She needed to feel him inside her.

His thumb flicked over her tender areas and he studied her reaction. Something must have come back to him, because suddenly he was laying her back on their bed. His mouth embraced where his hand had just been. His fingers glided down her body. Her back arched and she moaned when he reached into her panties and discovered her.

This was too much. It'd been too long since they'd shared their love for one another. Maybe this would be detrimental to his healing. Maybe it would be beneficial; maybe their intercourse would stir up some knowledge. She just knew she wanted to be selfish. Whatever the cost she'd be willing to pay.

Brennan helped him to wiggle out of his shirt. She was becoming breathless in trying to reach for the waistband on his athletic pants as he continued to stroke her. Before she could interact any further her body got the best of her. In a wave of endorphins she burst screaming his name. She felt weightless, and some time passed before she landed back on earth. Her eyes opened again. Booth was completely still. She couldn't read him. "Booth? What's the matter?" Sitting up, she noticed he almost seemed afraid of her. "You didn't do anything wrong. Come here."

He let her remove what little clothing he had left on covering the bottom portion of him. She gently brought his body down onto hers and kissed him again. "Come inside," she hissed passionately into his ear.

Introduced to the situation, an autopilot took over within him. In that time frame she could see and experience the man he was before the accident. Time felt as though it had erased itself. Over and over again she responded to him until he too, was at last finished. He held onto her and fought to get a handle on his breathing. She kissed his jaw and felt pleased to see a smile on his face. They'd both needed this.

Just as she was drifting off he exited the bed, only to return moments later and snuggle down underneath the sheets with her. She was so lost in her euphoria that she'd never heard the rattling of a pill bottle as he took another round of pain killers. And quite honestly, she probably wouldn't have cared.


	13. Broken Open

_The high pitched squealing sound of metal sawing through metal cut through Booth's psyche. Though he could hear it, the din sounded amplified as though he had fallen down a deep well. Stumbled and tripped down through the rabbit hole. Only he had no small white rabbit to be his guide. This new world he'd been slammed to was isolated. He was his own savior. _

"_All right! Try peeling the door open!"_

_To his left he could feel movement. "No, man! It's still stuck. We gotta keep cutting!"_

_Booth was unable to control himself as the pace of his breathing chose that moment to increase. The slight trembling his body had been maintaining since arriving to this place of semi consciousness turned violent. His teeth mashed together. He tensed, and though he was slipping away from the world around him he could hear one of those voices mirroring his own panic. "I think he's going into shock!"_

_A bright white Cheshire cat smile was all he saw as the dark closed in on him._

Booth's dream-like memory carried over into his real life. The pain he experienced in combination with his pounding heart ripped him from his sleep. He sat up and put his head in his hands. Through his temples he could feel his heart's racing rhythm. Why did he keep suffering from such terrible nightmares? They made absolutely no sense to him. Really they served no purpose other than to instill more fear into him than he could ever remember feeling. Then again, his life before… whatever this was that had happened to him… was rather foggy. Certain memories he was better able at attaining than others.

A sharp pain stabbed into his chest, reminding him that he needed to do something to take care of himself. He glanced to Brennan. She remained in a peaceful state, undisturbed by his quiet outburst. He was careful as he slid himself out from underneath the sheets. Lightly he tread into the bathroom where he'd left his pain pills before going to sleep hours before. He swallowed another few without bothering with water. Then he stepped back and studied his image in the mirror in the medicine cabinet door.

Compared to way he'd appeared the first time he saw himself he looked much better. But he still struggled to identify himself. This person he'd become was alien to him. The reflection was in his opinion, underweight. Evidence of confusion and exhaustion were signaling distress in it's eyes. The scars on his face and chest… had they always been there? Were they clues of the life he couldn't remember? Or were they brand new? Related to the event which had dropped him into this state of helplessness?

He was relieved when the oxycodone took him into its sweet embrace. His mind graciously ceased its train of thought. Into the living room he stumbled his way to the couch. Before he'd settled his eyes were closed. The drugs took him under.

* * *

><p>Brennan was oblivious to anything being wrong when she woke up alone in the morning. She followed through her usual routine with much more enthusiasm than she'd felt in some time. Her love making with Booth had rejuvenated her optimism. Booth simply did not have permanent damage. She wouldn't allow it. She, just like his therapists, would work with him until his memory returned. Failure was not an option. Only success. Together they'd proven they could do anything. That was why she was sure she'd be able to save him from himself.<p>

Before continuing onto the kitchen she rewarded a sleeping Booth with a kiss on his lips. He didn't stir. All while she cooked up breakfast he slept contentedly. At last she was forced to wake him. They needed to start their day. "I made pancakes," she whispered to him.

He grunted, and limped his body off the couch. Together they ate in silence, he finishing much before her as he hardly touched his plate. She took a gentle hold of his good wrist as he went by her. "You didn't half hardly eat. Is something the matter?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Not. Hungry." Actually, he felt rather sick to his stomach. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She released him.

After cleaning up after himself he stood underneath the shower in the bathroom for an extended period of time. The hot water soothed away all the aches and pains he was feeling. He soaped and shaved, taking care of all his basic grooming needs. When he was done he dried himself off. Back in the bedroom he pulled out what had become his "uniform," a simple tee shirt with some kind of loose athletic pants. Anything that didn't keep him limited or constricted during his physical therapy.

He'd returned to the bathroom to replace his towel on its proper rack when he eyed the oxycodone still sitting on the edge of the sink. Usually before, during, and after physical therapy he was in pain. Would it hurt if he kept a couple of pills on him? Perhaps he could even take them before therapy. Yes! He smiled at his brilliance. If he took them beforehand he could numb himself to any pain he might feel, guaranteeing him the ability to push himself harder. Eagerly he popped off the cap. A few pills poured out into his hand. He pocketed them.

Brennan drove him to the hospital. Before leaving her he surprised her with a brief but tender kiss. His smile reached his eyes as he climbed out of the vehicle. The affection solidified her belief. Booth was already returning to her in bits and pieces. They'd find him. Somehow, someway. He'd recover the person who'd been lost in the accident.

Booth gave his salutations to Dr. Rogers in his now expected way, an easy going smile and a head nod. He sat down across from her with a desk dividing the space between them. He noticed she had what appeared to be small cut scraps of photo paper sitting off to one side of her. His attention was taken by them.

"How do you feel?" She asked him.

"Okay."

"Good. Do you remember why you're here? What happened to you?" It was always the same line of questioning. Booth played his role by shaking his head. By now this all felt like a script. Maybe he didn't know about the accident but he could quote their lines, act out each of their activities, to a key.

But today was different. Dr. Rogers paused. "I'm going to show you something, okay? I'm hoping it will jog some memories. Some of them are rather graphic. If its too much then you tell me. We'll put them away and move onto something else."

This had to be regarding the photo paper. Booth nodded his acknowledgment for her to continue. She moved the images so they were directly in front of her. A close observation she kept on him as she turned the first one over.

The image was that of a car accident. A black Suburban was smashed in between two different equally mangled cars. Booth took the photo away from Dr. Rogers and studied it closely. The black one… why did that look so familiar to him? His eyes scanned every single detail. The windshield was smashed, as was the driver's side window. If he squinted hard enough he was sure he could see blood. His gaze lifted back to Dr. Rogers. He indicated to her non verbally that he wanted another one.

She overturned the following one. One by one as he requested she gave him all the copies of the photos she'd made from the official police record. Booth continued to scrutinize each one for minutes at a time.

"_We've got another car accident victim. Male here in his forties, suffering from head and neck trauma! More injuries probable in his chest. Lung sounds are weak. Blood pressure is high. We were cutting him out of his vehicle when he went into shock."_

Booth inhaled. His hands began to shake.

_He slammed the apartment door behind him, cutting off Brennan's final words to him. He was no longer interested in anything she had to say. His mind was tangled up in bewilderment and his heart was weeping silent tears. Through his sorrow he mustered up anger. She didn't want him? She didn't need him? How could she say such things to him?_

_He knew he needed to get away. Some time to himself would give him the perspective he needed to attempt to deal with the situation again. With a single click of a sensor on his keys he unlocked his car door. Up inside he slid into the seat._

"Mr. Booth? Are you all right?"

"Accident." He murmured dazedly, pushing the photos away from him. "I was mad. I got into a car accident."

"That's right."

"I got hurt." He blinked at her. The shaking in his hands worsened. In fact, his entire body was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Dr. Rogers stood. "I'm going to get you a glass of water. Just stay here and allow yourself to breathe deeply." She patted his shoulder as she departed from the room.

Booth tried to inhale in a calming matter but found himself unable to do so. He used his index finger to slide the pictures back to him. _Bones didn't want me in her life anymore. That's what she said. She didn't need me. I got angry and I left. I fell asleep behind the wheel and got hurt. _He winced against a new onslaught of images tearing through his subconscious. _She doesn't love me. But then why is she doing all this for me? Is it because she just feels sorry?_

Dr. Rogers returned with the promised glass of water. She noticed how pale and almost fragile her patient had become. "I think this is a good place to stop at for today. We can discuss more tomorrow. For right now I want you to just take your time and process what you've learned today at your own speed. I'm going to go into my office." The woman gathered up his file, not realizing she was neglecting replacing the photographs. "Sit her for as long as you like. If you need me come by." She touched his good hand. "You did good today."

He waited until she had gone from the vicinity to react. From his pocket he produced a few of his pilfered pills. With a swig of water he swallowed them down at once. Then he stood and carefully put the images in his back pocket. From now on they would be on him at all times. Just because his mind had shut him out from the truth once didn't mean that he would allow it to happen again. Ever.

* * *

><p>Brennan was unprepared for the panic she was met with when she arrived at the hospital to retrieve Booth at the appointed hour. Rachel was waiting for her in the gym with an expression that she had trouble discerning. "I think Dr. Rogers wants to see you in her office." She turned away, her blond pony tail bouncing up over her shoulder.<p>

"Why? Where's Booth? Did something happen?"

"You should… you really should just talk to her."

Brennan's heart was in her throat. She stalked back to Dr. Rogers' office and burst inside. "Where's Booth?" She demanded to know. "Why isn't he in the gym?"

"He's missing."


	14. Blurry

"Missing?" Brennan repeated. The familiar word was suddenly foreign to her. It tasted funny in her mouth. "Booth" and "missing" simply did not go together. Not before. Not now. Not ever. Certainly not in his permanent state of confusion. Where would he go? Did he even remember his way around the city?

"Yes. He had a difficult time in therapy today so I left to give him some time to himself-"

"Why would you do that?" She shrieked at her. "Difficult time? What happened?"

"I was able to restore some of his memory by giving him visual aids."

"What sort of visual aids?" Brennan's heart was beating faster and faster. Only now it was just as much from fear as it was from anger. What could she have possibly shown him that would have sent him into hiding? What could have caused him to runaway?

"I was able to obtain pictures from the police of the accident scene."

Brennan gasped. "So you triggered his memory and then left him to suffer on his own without discussing it?"

"He lapsed into a-"

She was no longer interested in the details. As far as she was concerned Dr. Rogers was wasting her valuable time; time that needed to be spent looking for Booth. The doctor was still explaining herself when Brennan turned away. She half jogged back the way she'd came moments before. A part of her was still in a state of disbelief. Why had no one stopped him? Didn't the hospital have some sort of security? Then again he wouldn't have appeared as anyone special to them. He would have been no different than anyone else wandering around the hospital alone.

In the parking lot she awkwardly climbed back into her car. She paused a moment to think. "Where would he go?" She whispered out loud. "Where would he be? What would he do?" Sniffing around their old haunts would be worthless. He obviously never had had complete amnesia but the crash had tainted his pleasant memories of those places. An idea occurred to her that displeased her. But with her mind grasping at straws she was so desperate that she pushed aside her personal feelings. Phone in hand she dialed Sweets right away. "Booth's missing," she said by way of greeting. "He left the hospital on his own. His therapist showed him some pictures from the accident, then she left him alone. I don't know where he'd go. I don't know what to do." The emotion was thick in her voice.

"Wow," was all Sweets was able to utter at first. When his brain absorbed the information he was able to continue. "He was shown pictures of the accident? Okay. That likely trigged a stress response state. Do you know any details?"

"No." Frustrated tears stung her eyes. "Where would he go, Sweets? I have to find him." Her heart wouldn't stop its frantic pounding until she did. She doubted their daughter would stop her feverish kicking, either.

"It's hard to predict the behavior of amnesia, especially when its brought on by a TBI."

"Give me your best guess then!" She shouted her demand.

Rationally speaking, emotions may have been impossible to see or feel over the distance of a phone line, but she was positive she could feel Sweets' fear. "Um. Try the bridge where he had the accident."

"The bridge?" She repeated warily.

"It's my best guess. He'll want to return to the scene. Try to see if he can't jog up some more memories. Now that he has partial recall he'll try to seek the rest of the story."

His theory didn't make all that much sense to her. But it was all she had to go on. She barely thanked him before hanging up. From the hospital she wound through traffic towards the bridge. Her anxiety increased with every mile. What would be awaiting her? Had Booth indeed gone there to seek his answers? What if he hadn't? What would she do if she couldn't find him? And honestly, at the other end of the spectrum, what would she do if he _was _there? What if he shut her out before she could properly explain herself? Simple words likely wouldn't be able to express the amount of her sorrow. But she had to try.

To her surprise Sweets was correct. Booth was standing on the side of the road. His back was to the cars speeding by him. He was leaning against the guard rail studying the water rushing below him. Brennan pulled off onto the shoulder. She waited until there was a break in traffic before climbing out of her car. "Booth!" She called as she approached him.

He didn't give any indication that he'd heard her. The closer she drew she could see the physical effects that had taken hold of him. His shoulder blades pierced the back of his shirt as they were pushed back while he leaned forward on the railing on his elbows. Sporadically he shook with repressed fear. His eyes were speaking volumes for what his brain couldn't allow him to say; wouldn't give him the favor of clear thought processing.

"Booth?" She tried again, softer as she came to a stop besides him. He didn't look at her. He backed up enough to grip the rail with tightened fists. Against it he pushed. His head lowered as his eyes scrunched tight. Tentatively she laid a hand on his back. "Booth, please."

His voice was frighteningly low. "You said… you didn't… need me." Finally, he looked at her with such hate that she gasped and took a step back. "Don't… need you… either."

"That's not true. I did need you. I _do _need you. I was scared. Booth, please." She didn't like the way he continuously stared down into the river, as though it held final answers for him. Could provide some sort of resolution. She was well aware patients with TBI's often developed suicidal behavior. "Come home. Lets talk about it."

"Can't talk." He reminded her. "Cause… this!" He punched the railing with his hand that wasn't wearing a cast. "Don't want to. Tired." He winced with tears.

"Then lets just go home and rest. Please." Her words were falling on deaf ears. He was hardly acknowledging her. "I said those things because I was afraid. I was afraid of my feelings for you, of this life we've created together. It wasn't right to take my emotions out on you. I don't know why I said any of it. I should have just talked to you. I need you. I can't imagine my life without you. Your accident only solidified my belief. I will spend the rest of my life proving how much you mean to me; how much I love you. If you just give me a chance." She gripped the hard muscle in his upper arm. "Booth, _please_."

He still wouldn't look at her. But he obliged in allowing her to lead him back to her car. Down in the seat he settled before closing his eyes. While shutting the door she saw him grimace again. For what reason? Emotional pain or physical? The sick pit of dread brought bile to the back of her throat. She knew this day was to come. Over time she'd had glimpses of it. But there had been no way to prepare for the intensity. She had no idea if Booth would be able to forgive her. There was no way to foresee how he was feeling or what he was thinking. Therefore she was uncertain as to what comfort she could offer him, or if he'd even want it.

He was silent during the drive home. Back inside their apartment he left her for the bathroom. She could hear the rattling of a pill bottle, following by the hiss of water running from a faucet. More oxycodone. She exhaled. For lack of a better idea she started for the kitchen to make dinner. Emotions running high or not they still needed to eat. Life had to move forward even if it felt like it'd stalled.

Booth gingerly laid himself down on the couch. He closed his eyes, and not before too long had lapsed into the type of deep sleep that occurred after a fierce mental storm. Brennan was unable to wake him to eat. "How many did you take?" She asked him worriedly.

The rest of the evening she lingered alone. After dinner she retired to the bedroom where she tried to read. Her thoughts were occupied with Booth. She should have had a plan in place for when this issue rose to the surface. But how could she have prepared? Booth was unpredictable, through no fault of his own. She wasn't sure her earlier words had reached him. She worried too, over what seemed to be a developing dependence on his pain medication. There was not much she would be able to do for that short of taking him to see Sweets. The problems between them she could attempt to resolve. Drug addiction was out of her control.

Before she turned in for the night she tried for a second time to wake him. Carefully she lowered her body down onto the edge of the couch besides him. "Booth," she brushed a hand affectionately across his chest. "Come to bed."

He didn't wake. Harder she rubbed him. Gradually his eyes rolled open. He squinted at her as though he was unfamiliar with the beauty sitting besides him. She felt her heart seize up. "Booth? Come lay in bed with me."

He made it very clear he wasn't interested. His head lolled to one side. Within seconds he again breathed the slow rhythm of sleep. She sighed. Fine. She wouldn't push anymore tonight. Tenderly she kissed his lips, figuring she might as well take advantage of the opportunity now. In the near future she doubted there'd be much affection between them. "I'll make you understand somehow." Her promise was a whisper.

In the overnight hours her sleep was light. No noise went unnoticed. Sometime around one in the morning she heard him serve himself another dose of pain medication. Tightly she shut her eyes. Until she could figure out the situation she should have hidden the bottle. There was no reason why she couldn't ration them out. In the morning she'd contact either Sweets or his hospital therapist. Little she knew about oxycodone. Was it possible for him to overdose? The thought jerked her straight up into a sitting position. No. This had to stop. Now.

Another noise had her throwing the sheets back. Her gait was fast as she flew into the living room. Booth was no longer on the couch. She turned on a light to find him standing by the front door. He'd frozen. Her heart passed straight up into her throat. "Booth? It's almost one in the morning. Where are you going?"

He didn't turn around. "Leaving," he muttered vaguely. "I'm leaving."


	15. Never Alone

Booth's eyes were glossed over. The earlier anger had been replaced by silent confusion. Booth didn't know his way around the city anymore. Certainly he had no car. It left her wondering if this was a sudden side effect from the oxycodone; the symptom of someone who had taken a tad over his recommended dose. "Booth, no. You need to come with me and lay down."

"Don't… want… you don't… want…"

"I told you, I _do_ want you. But we can discuss that in the morning. Please." She realized he wasn't even dressed appropriately to be aimlessly wandering the city. At some point during the night he'd taken off his shoes, socks, and shirt. His jeans, though still on, had been undone and were slacking around his hips. He didn't seem conscious of this. Her eyes were drawn to the healing mass of bruises still on his rib cage. They didn't seem to be healing as fast as she would have preferred. Or was it because of Booth himself, pushing himself through rigorous physical therapy? She exhaled. "Your mental state is not up to its full capacity at the moment. If you won't lay with me then please return to the couch?" She tilted her head in order to give him her best pleading look.

He wasn't sure of her and it was obvious in his wariness. They had a lot of repairing that needed to be done. But he gave in. She took a careful hold on his good forearm. Together they returned to the bedroom. Brennan peeled his jeans off of his body. As she bent down to pull them out from under his feet his hand rested on her back to steady himself. When she straightened she found herself closer than she'd intended to his body. Their mouths were inches apart. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Even though she was frozen he didn't move away. When an idea came to her she acted on it before she could allow herself to think. Tenderly she kissed him. Her mind went on instant alert to gauge his reaction, whatever it may be. She'd prepared for the worst, and therefore was surprised when his mouth fed back against hers. Across his lips she slid her tongue. He let her in.

His hands tightened on her, and she knew she needed to stop before they went too far. Added in with all the other problems between them, sex was anything but the answer. Particularly considering his drug addled mind. "I never meant what I said to you. There's nothing about that night that I wouldn't take back if I could. I never should have spoken to you like I did. I shouldn't have let my fear get the best of me. I never should have let you walk out. I'll never stop feeling guilty over all that's occurred. But you need help. You've improved but you still have so far to go. If you'll allow me, I'd like to be there for you. We can fix our problems." She insisted. Again her mouth pressed against his. "We're in love. Do you remember that?"

At the word "love" he seemed to slink back into his shell. "Tired." He murmured. "Sleep."

She was frustrated but not deterred. Instead she chose to be happy over being able to convince him to stay. He crawled onto his side of the bed. She laid down on hers. Onto his side he rolled facing the wall opposite her. It didn't take long for him to fall back asleep. She meanwhile, was consumed by her thoughts until she too, fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Booth was in and out during the ride to the hospital. He had no idea where he was, or what was happening to him. The pain he was in was more powerful than he'd ever felt. An oxygen mask was supposed to be providing him relief to his haggard breathing. And yet it did little. He managed to open his eyes though he was unable to see anything.<em>

"_Pupils are blown wide. Man. This guy's a mess."_

"_You think he's gonna make it?"_

"_I don't know. It's bad."_

_His eyes closed. He began to choke._

* * *

><p>Booth slept in late in the morning. Brennan was up long before him. She could only gather that at some time during the night he'd found a way to take more of his medication. Emergency precautions needed to be taken. His addiction was becoming painfully obvious. But it was accidental overdose that really had her frantic. In a search for the bottle she turned up nothing. He had it hidden in his own special spot away from prying eyes. This too, concerned her. All along she should have kept a closer eye on him. Then again, weren't his therapists responsible as well?<p>

She tried to wake Booth for his usual morning therapy. For at least an hour she'd argued with herself over whether or not she should take him. Obviously yesterday had been a great example of too much, too soon. He needed to take some time for himself to mentally recover. To avoid an argument she ultimately decided to let him choose for himself his plans for the day.

He wouldn't completely wake. Her touch would stir him. But his eyes would shut again almost immediately. She tried shaking him vigorously. "Booth!" She yelled in his face. Other than the occasional eye peep, nothing. No words. No sign of a real, concrete response to her efforts. For the first time she heard how slow, how shallow his breaths were. She realized then that she was too late. He wasn't in risk of an overdose.

It'd already happened.

* * *

><p>The next few hours flew by in what felt like seconds. Paramedics rushed to the apartment after Brennan dialed for help. Booth was rushed to the emergency room while she was forced to wait in an uncomfortable chair watching terrible day time television. She tried to dial back the anger she felt. It radiated from her like a beacon. She was angry at herself for not noticing sooner; for getting them into this predicament. She was angry at Booth for allowing it to happen to himself. She was angry at his therapists, who were pushing him far too hard much too fast. Or in "Rachel's" case, permitting him to force himself into activities he wasn't ready for. If everyone hadn't, hadn't, hadn't. It was worthless now. The real question on her mind was, was he really still in that much pain? Addiction she understood. But there'd been a reason Booth had kept doping himself. The root of that reason needed to be found.<p>

It was Dr. Mullins who joined her sometime later. She was grateful for the familiar face. "How is he? Did we make it in time?"

"His stomach and ribs are pretty sore, but the medication's all out. I know what you're thinking." He sat down besides her. "I highly doubt this was a suicide attempt."

She felt like she'd been struck. "I wasn't thinking that at all. I know he's in pain." The way he'd been wincing in the car after she'd picked him up at the bridge the day before came back to her. "I just don't know why. I don't know if its real or a figment of his imagination."

"I don't doubt either scenario. If we can obtain his permission I'd like to run some updated scans on his injuries. There's still heavy bruising-"

"I know. I believe he isn't healing properly because of his physical therapy. His therapist seems more interested in his body than his overall well being." She scowled. "I wouldn't call her professional. She should be fired." Maybe she'd make some calls to assert that would happen. "I don't know that I want his care to be based here anymore. But I am unsure of what else to do for him."

Dr. Mullins rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Lets start with the x-rays, CAT scans, the works. I'm going to do a little research. Make a few calls. Give me a few days and I'll try to have some answers for you. In the meantime," he stood. "I would assume you'd like to see him."

His words gave her hope. Someone was on their side. "Yes. I would like that very much. Thank you, Dr. Mullins. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet." He chuckled. "Let me see if I can work some magic first. But we'll get something going for him. Something better. I'm sorry this line of therapy hasn't worked out."

"Me too. But he's a unique case." She smiled sadly thinking of him. "He's a unique person."

Since he was out of danger Booth was in a regular hospital room. He was napping when Brennan stepped inside. He'd been put into a hospital gown, the front of which was stained black from the charcoal used to pump his stomach. In general he didn't look much different than he had sleeping besides her in their bed. With the exception of the cast it was easy to think their lives weren't ravaged by chaos. Anyone outside looking in would assume they were a normal, expectant couple.

As if she could sense her thoughts their baby gave her a powerful kick right at that moment. Brennan half smiled. Was that her daughter's sign to tell her to go to him, already? She obeyed. Standing besides Booth she grasped his hand. His eyes fluttered open right away. But his expression was blank.

She knelt so they were at the same level. "I don't know how, Booth. But I'm going to fix this. You're done with the oxycodone. Dr. Mullins is working out a plan, but I imagine you'll go through a phase of detox here. Something will be put in place for your pain. But I'm not letting you use it to escape me, or our problems anymore. I should have seen this sooner." She brushed the hair away from his forehead with her other hand. "You're not running away anymore."

His eyes closed again with a deep sigh. But he didn't let go of her hand. In fact, he squeezed it. The sign was one of encouragement. "I promise not to ever let you go again," she whispered.


	16. Waiting For The End

From that day it was a week or so before Brennan was allowed to see Booth again. While he'd been enduring the varying stages of detox doctors hadn't permitted her to be present. Not knowing his condition put her in an constant edgy state. Several times throughout the day she was phoning the unit he'd been placed in for updates. The doctor overseeing his case told her that he was managing with the assistance being provided, but he still struggled. Constantly he'd been pleading to go home to anyone who would listen. He worked with his doctors but made it clear he wasn't happy. Withdrawal symptoms were still present, though they'd been dulled in part because of the other medications he'd been placed on for that reason. The worst for him, she was informed, was the overnight hours. Booth was never able to achieve more than a few hours of sleep. Being uncomfortable in an unfamiliar environment made it hard for him to relax. His doctor told Brennan about a few instances in which he'd arrived in the morning to find Booth playing card games with the nurses. "So at least he's improving his memory."

In the meantime Dr. Mullins had a few updates of his own. "All the tests we ran have shown that he isn't healing properly. I'm suspending his physical therapy until further notice."

"He's been all right. He can walk again." Brennan pointed out the obvious. Their conversation was had over the phone while she washed dishes.

"It's his strength I'm worried about. His cast will be coming off before he leaves the hospital as well. But I think he was using the oxycodone to numb himself and push harder, which has taken its toll. That can't be allowed anymore. I have… well, I don't know if I'd call it a solution or not."

Brennan was all ears. "What is it?"

He hesitated. "If I may ask how close are you to giving birth?"

"A little over a month. Why?"

"I don't know how you'd feel about my idea. There's a retreat up in southern Maine. It's in the woods, a real country "back to nature" feel. I believe there without any distractions Booth could really focus on his recovery, and the two of you could work on fixing your fractured relationship. But if you're that close to giving birth you might have some understandable reservations. There is another drawback. Should something happen help isn't exactly close by."

Brennan remained silent. She mulled over the information. "Who will work with him on his vocabulary and such?"

"For the time you're out there you'd be his primary care giver. You know." He sighed. "This is a bad idea. Just forget I said anything. You need to be tending to yourself and your pregnancy."

She was hardly listening. Maybe for someone else it would seem like a horrendous plot. But she liked the thought of being in charge; of knowing precisely the levels of progress he was achieving. She was pleased at the thought of administering all his care. There would be no pulling the wool over her eyes. He couldn't fool her. In addition he would have no choice but to deal with their problems. No more medicating himself to escape. "Southern Maine, you said?" She dried her hands, wandering from the sink to her computer. "What's the name of it?"

"Back County."

"Odd." She muttered as she typed the information in a search engine. At her fingertips she was supplied with pictures and information. The "retreat" was made up of a bunch of cabins, spaced out from one another. The website promised no phones or media; an absolute getaway from the world. "Yes. I think this could work."

"But don't you think-"

"I know my capabilities and my limits, Dr. Mullins." She scrolled down the webpage one more time. "For the immediate future… this is the answer."

* * *

><p>Booth kept his opinions about the trip to himself. Before being released to Brennan he'd been informed of everything. Unlike Brennan, he wasn't all that enthralled. His anger at her hadn't been forgotten in the wave of all else that had happened. He wasn't pleased to think that he'd be spending all his time with her without any space to call his own, to be by himself when he felt he needed to be. Before his accident he'd excelled with people. Now while his shaken brain continued to heal he was easily overwhelmed by them, something he hadn't realized until he'd been hospitalized. So much still remained unknown and not relearned yet. His frustration was for the most part kept inward. Over stimulation sent him seeking out a place for private time to let his demons out.<p>

Brennan already had bags packed in the back of her car when she retrieved him from the hospital. He sighed wearily as he slumped down into the passenger seat. Behind him he dropped the plastic bag he'd been giving by his doctor. Inside were the clothes he'd been admitted in, and his new non opiate "pain killers." They weren't anywhere as good as the oxycodone. The pain he felt was much more apparent. Several times a day he wished like hell he could have found a way to stay on the oxycodone, or something like it.

Booth's doctor had a bag of goodies for Brennan as well. Inside were instruction booklets mostly on how to treat his injury. She couldn't wait to get to the cabin and pour over them. Booth would improve in her company. She'd see to it. If only she knew how unwilling he was feeling.

The drive out of town was silent. Booth kept to himself until they were crossing the Key Bridge - the same bridge where he'd had his accident. He straightened up, sucking in a harsh breath. Back and forth from side railing to side railing he looked. On one side someone had erected a home made cross for the victims who had lost their lives. That harsh breath became a shuddering exhale.

"I'm sorry." Brennan was apologizing. "It's the only way out of town, Booth. If I'd known a different route…" She'd been hoping he wouldn't remember.

_A strained gasp. The sound of squealing brakes useless on an icy coating. Nothing but a series of three silver rails to keep his oversized vehicle from sliding straight down into the river. The impact throwing him straight into the steering wheel. His head lifting just in time to see oncoming headlights heading straight for him._

Booth sounded ready to hyperventilate. His good hand was squeezing the arm rest on the door tightly. Brennan increased her speed. He near fainted before they arrived safely on the other side. His reaction was more severe than she'd expected. Perhaps this trip wasn't going to go as smoothly as she thought.

His head tipped back onto the head rest. His eyes squeezed shut. "Sleep." He murmured randomly.

"You can sleep, Booth."

"No." He shook his head. "Fell sleep. While driving." His mind replayed the image of the guard rail crash. He gasped. "Too late. I didn't…"

"It's okay." She said softly. "I know. It's okay."

It _wasn't _okay. His body ached for the oxycodone. Or so his emotions were convincing him. He craved the feeling of escape; of not having to feel anything. He licked his lips just thinking about it. Had Brennan found his hidden bottle? His eyes lit with hope. Yes! There was still medication in the apartment! Unless she'd found it. "Home!" He begged her desperately. "Home!"

"No, Booth. I'm sorry. Your doctors and I discussed that this retreat is what's best for you right now. It's what's best for us. Once we get there you'll start feeling better. I know its kind of a long journey for you."

He glared back at her. She had no idea. "Home," he insisted again, though much weaker.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

He grit his teeth. She was surprised to see him begin to cry. Back in his seat he hunched, refusing to look at her.

"Booth, I know-"

"No you don't!" He rebutted in a voice that sounded more like his own had before the accident. "No idea, Bones. No idea!" _You have no idea what I'm going through._

She kept quiet then. She listened as he unashamedly cried tears of aggravation and sorrow. Tears blurred her own eyes. By now it wasn't even so much that she blamed herself, though she still did. It tore her up to know how badly he was still suffering. A victim to his own mind. Misunderstood and unable to completely successfully express himself. He was right. She had no idea what he was going through.

Midway through their journey he began shifting in his seat. He'd paled considerably. "Where's your medication?" She wondered lightly. "I can stop so you can get it."

_It's back in D.C. where I should be. _He harrumphed. Mutely he pointed to the backseat. She eased over onto the shoulder so he could retrieve it from his bag. Dully he popped the top off and swallowed a few. Then he slid back into his position. Still he was barely looking at her.

"Booth, please-"

"Home."

He was a skipping record. "No. We can't. I'm sorry but you just have to accept that. Why is it so important to you that we go home?"

No more was said. He itched at the skin on his arm where the cast he been removed. Shot down. No more would be said during the ride, she realized. Back onto the road she pulled, hoping they'd get there sooner rather than later.


	17. On The Road

Brennan would have preferred Booth sleep for the remainder of the drive. She'd foolishly hoped that the medication he'd consumed would lull him into a sleep, though she knew what he'd been given had no more strength than average Tylenol. His addiction confounded his life all the more, leaving him with what she viewed was an ineffective way to treat himself. The drugs may have taken off the edge. But they didn't alleviate. Nor did they alter his mood as they seemed to have done before. Booth continued to keep to himself. Every mile he slipped further away from her. Why was it so important they go home? What about their trip, or perhaps even about her, was making him so anxious? It felt like something more was brewing within him beyond just simple anger and the nervousness of being confined to a car for hours.

"Would you like to stop and get something to eat?" She offered midway through their drive. He shook his head no. His eyes were darting back and forth in watching the scenery flash by. He wouldn't so much as glance in her direction. Against the window his head had rested. In the short time they'd been together he'd appeared to have worn himself out.

"Would you like to stop for a moment anyway? When the body is restrained in a single position for an extended period of time-"

He exhaled and raised his eyes to the heavens.

"I really need to walk for a while for our daughter's sake."

At last she was granted his stare. His gaze softened. Any ill emotion he carried towards her did not extend as far as her health or their daughter. He gave a curt nod. Then once again turned his attention away from her. The baby gave her a mighty kick. She grimaced and rubbed her stomach.

She stopped at the next rest area. Both of them spilled out of her car into the parking lot. It wasn't until she was standing that Brennan realized she needed to do more than pace a few steps. "I'm going to use the washroom." She pointed to a small brick building. "Stay here."

He raised an eyebrow, subtly suggesting his thought of her being absurd. She'd already isolated him from what was familiar. Short of hitching a ride he had no option of returning to D.C. There was no way he'd take her car and leave her stranded. The love was still there between them, even if it had been buried deep below other issues. No matter how he felt she was confident their time alone could unearth it.

The dwelling was rather pleasant for being at a rest stop, seeing likely thousands of visitors per day. The floor shined with cleanliness. Brennan's reservations were eased. She finished her business and returned outdoors. Booth was nowhere to be seen. The car was empty. The sidewalk too, was void of him, or anyone else. "Booth?" She called worriedly.

The area on both sides of the restrooms was nothing more than a grassy plain hill with a few trees. She frowned. If Booth was playing "hide and seek" she was due to have a difficult time in trying to find him. "Booth?" She tried again, waddling straight up. Her voice echoed back to her. "I don't have the time or the strength for this." She muttered to herself. The baby offered a kick of agreement.

Then she saw him. He hadn't journeyed too far. He'd sat down by a tree, leaning his back against the trunk. His knees were drawn tight to his chest as he hunched over them. His shoulders heaved. The sight of it increased her endurance. She shuffled her way over to him. "Booth?"

He lifted his head to see her with eyes dulled by pain. It may have been difficult but she knelt down on a knee besides him. "What is it? Are you in pain?" Clearly he was.

"Home," he mumbled with a lot less force than before. He was tiring.

"I'm sorry. We can't. Why is this so important to you? Please, tell me." She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Just as before he disregarded her. _Maybe he can't tell me, _she thought. _Maybe he can't actually form the words. _"Do you want some more of your medication? I could go back to the car and-"

He cut her off by shaking his head. "No. Worth… its worth…"

"Worthless?" She ended for him. "All right. When we get to the cabin I'll call your doctor and see if he can't prescribe you something else."

"No point." He used the tree to lift himself from the ground.

"Booth-"

"Home!" He whirled around and shouted at her. The desperation in his tone was unlike any she'd ever heard before. "No one… ask me! What I… If I… want…" He seethed with frustration. "No!"

"We established that the care you were receiving at home was inadequate. It was that lack of care that landed you in the hospital. You overdosed. You could have died had I not realized what you'd done. Accident or not, it cannot happen again. You aren't healing, neither physically nor mentally because your doctors are either pushing you beyond your limits, or they're allowing you to do so on your own. This is something you can't be impatient with. Your mind and body will recover on their own time schedule. If we leave you to your own vices you'll be putting yourself in a grave much earlier than you intend. I prefer not to be a single mother. We need you, Booth. Both of us!" She wrapped her arms around her stomach. " You're not alone in this."

He gasped a chuckle. "Alone!" His finger jabbed himself in the chest. "It's my life!"

"Which you are unable to take care of at the moment! I'm sorry but I can't just take us back home when I know the danger you are willing to put yourself in. I want you to be that person you were as badly as you do. I wanted it to happen before Christine was born, but I can see now I was selfish in thinking so. If you never become that person again I can adapt. I don't care because I will love you no matter who you are!"

"I don't!" He sputtered back. She winced in pain. Was he really saying he no longer loved her? He must have understood her stunned reaction, for he quickly added, "me. Love me."

"You don't love yourself?" She repeated. Tears answered her. Tentatively she wound her fingers around his good wrist. "Booth."

"Home. _Please_." His pleading tugged on her heart strings. She noticed he would elaborate no more on his previous statement at that time. But she wouldn't allow it to be forgotten about.

Tenderly she rested her palm against his cheek. "I'm sorry. I love you, but right now with the state of mind you're in I can't completely trust you. I know you're willing to harm yourself to get what you want."

The energy holding him upright eradicated from within his body. He slumped. She tried to speak again but he tore himself away from her. Back down the hill he trudged with her carefully tracing a path behind him. He climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the car door with such force that she startled. She couldn't deny that a part of her was fearful in sliding in behind the steering wheel. "Booth, listen-"

"Drive." He gave the order through clenched teeth. "Just drive, Bones."

Sorrowfully she did as he asked. Some hours later she was driving off the main road into a wooded area. The headlights of the car were the only source by which they were able to see. Just as they neared the cabin that had been reserved as theirs a soaking rain began to fall. The car skidded in the mud as she attempted to stop it. "This is us."

Booth leaned forward to peer out the windshield. He puffed a breath through his lips, which sounded something like irritation. "Home." This time the single word was for himself, and spoken with anger. He threw open the car door and climbed out. From the trunk he unloaded their luggage while she unlocked the cabin to let them inside.

All was exactly how it had appeared on the website. The cabin was made of wood. It contained no more than four rooms, among them a bedroom and a bathroom. Everything was simplistic in its design. There was no television. No radio. No computer beyond the laptop Brennan had brought from home. There was hardly any cell phone service. They truly were on their own in the middle of nature. "This is quaint." She nodded appreciatively. "With the exception of electricity this really makes me feel as though I've returned to my anthropological roots, as some tribes, such as some in the Amazon, still live this way. I find it comforting. What do you think?"

Booth wasn't hearing her. He set their luggage down next to the door. He shed his wet outer clothes and left her for the bedroom. Brennan found him a few minutes later laying on his back in bed. Prepared for him, she extended a few pills and a glass of water. "Just take it. Even if it provides only slight relief. That's better than nothing."

He stared at her like she held a foreign unknown substance. Then he closed his eyes.

"Please don't take your anger at me out on yourself. You deserve better than that. You deserve to treat yourself better than that." She sat down besides him on the mattress. "Please just take it."

"No help." He insisted, but surrendered and accepted. After that she descended upon him with loving hands. She massaged his muscles. Beneath her expert fingers the knots within him loosened. She hoped a combination of the medication and her skills could get him to relax. It wasn't entirely successful but she did feel him soften. His eyes closed again. "That's it," she told him in a sing song voice. "Just rest tonight. We have plenty of time to fix what's been broken. And we will." She stroked her hair back. "We will."


	18. Turn It Around

"Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome

And I don't feel right when you're gone away

You've gone away - you don't feel me here anymore"

- "Broken" Seether

* * *

><p>Booth slept the entire night through with no more than Brennan's massage and his weakened medication as assistance. He woke to an empty bed. The sheets were neatly made on the side in which she'd been sleeping. He considered closing his eyes to return to his sweet state of obliviousness. For as long as possible he just assumed remain aloof. He was still opposed and almost offended by the situation he'd been forced into against his will. Brennan's best intentions may have been at heart. But he was nowhere near ready to accept them. If she thought this trip would be the answer to solve the issues between them then she was sadly mistaken. His heart ached just as much as his rattled brain. The car crash he could forgive her for. She certainly didn't force him to fall asleep behind the wheel. It was her sharp tongued words that left a bleeding hole in his chest; those words that had driven him into exile. That he was having difficulty letting go of. And now, her apologizes? Were they sincere? Or was she just remorseful that her carelessness near killed him?<p>

He wished he was able to articulate himself in a manner in which he could be properly understood. His thoughts were complete. He could think in full sentences. But there was a cog in the machine getting them from his conscious to his lips. Communication broke down. The words jumbled up and became forgotten. The worry over never being able to speak again brought forth a strong craving for the oxycodone. What he would have given to knock himself out for days on end. Maybe for life. Wide opened his eyes popped. Did he really mean that?

Brennan shyly stepped into the bedroom. "You're awake," she smiled pleasantly. "I've made some breakfast if you feel up to eating."

He didn't. But no more sleep would come to him. His body had made it apparent it'd rested enough. Away from himself he tugged off the blankets. Over his broad shoulders he pulled on a shirt. Then he traced her steps into the kitchen of the cabin. The area was rather small, with no more than a sink, an oven Booth assumed to be gas powered, and a wooden table that matched the décor. Brennan had made them both bowls of oatmeal, and cut up fresh fruit. The sight of it made his stomach churn with acid. The last thing he felt like was eating. Obediently he surrendered his true desire and sat down.

They ate in silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Booth ate with little enthusiasm. He spent more time staring at the contents of his plate versus consuming it. Brennan finished long before him. "I was thinking," she began as she rose from her seat with her empty dishes. "I spent much of this morning while you were sleeping studying the information your doctors sent along with us. I'd like to begin speech therapy when you are finished eating. If you'd like to." She added quickly when she saw his face sour. "I won't push you, Booth. I want for you to get better. But I certainly won't risk your emotional health. That's just as important to me as your physical health. You need to get better on your own schedule. No more striving for more than you are currently capable of." She frowned when he didn't at least try to chime in. "Booth? What are you thinking?"

"Home." He sighed wearily. "Tired, Bones."

"You can rest. I won't disturb you."

"No. Not… wrong tired." Mentally he was bushed. "Just… want home."

She laid a reluctant hand on his shoulder. "I know, Booth. I truly am sorry. If I thought," she cut herself off by inhaling sharply. Her hand instantly was at the side of her belly, massaging the tender skin. Booth closely observed her. Damaged brain or not he understood her pregnancy. Up to his feet he shot, ready to act.

"No. It's okay." She exhaled a laugh. "She's kicking, quite fiercely. Would you like to feel?" She knew he'd felt what felt like butterflies fluttering around her stomach before. But she was unsure as to how much he'd absorbed.

He allowed her to take his hand. She laid his touch against the area where their daughter continued to kick out her protests. Booth's hardened eyes softened. His other palm came to rest on top of her bulge. After a moment he raised his gaze to meet hers.

"We need you, Booth." She whispered.

She spoke pure truth, but the moment was still destroyed. The sparkle in his eyes vanished. He withdrew from her. Too far she'd pushed, too soon. Booth wasn't about to let her forget his hatred of her plot which she'd failed to consult him regarding. His unconditional love for her still remained unseen. But she felt she'd seen a glimpse of it in interacting with his unborn.

"Walk."

"You're going to go for a walk?" She tried to draw more forth from him. He just nodded. "Okay. Will you be okay to be on your own? I wouldn't want you to get lost."

"Fine," he snapped darkly. He scraped what was left of his breakfast into the garbage. Roughly he let the dishes collide in the sink. She cleaned while he dressed for the elements. No goodbye was uttered as the door was slammed shut. The sudden sound of it made her jump. "I'm never going to get through to him." She told no one. Every time she thought they'd made a breakthrough he retreated too easily. If their daughter wasn't enough of a reminder for him than what would it take to invoke the feelings of love and adoration they had for one another? A tragedy had brought them together, but ultimately it was love that made the child growing inside of her. That love had been overshadowed with confusion, and though it twisted her heart to admit it, hate. There were times she was almost positive he detested her. But that didn't mean she'd stop trying.

Once she felt Booth had been gone for too long of a period of time, she dressed appropriately to find him. At eight and a half months pregnant she knew she was tempting fate by hiking by herself on a mountain side. But for Booth she was willing to risk it. Besides, she had trust in herself. She'd already nearly ruined one life. She wouldn't make that mistake again. She'd respect the fragility of life.

Not too terribly far from the cabin was a pond. It was a trek uphill which stole all the oxygen right away from her lungs. But the outcome was worth the price. Booth had sat himself down on a tree trunk that had been pulled from its roots from the ground by a storm. He was staring intently into the reflection of the orange morning sun bouncing its light off of the water. The warm glow bathed his face. His shoulders had lowered. There was a peace within him she hadn't witnessed in some time. She was hesitant to disturb him. But the opportunity needed to be seized. If the beast within him had been pacified then it was possible she had a chance at reaching him; having him comprehend her sorrow and regret. Given his limited speech abilities she wondered now if all those talks she'd tried on him before had been wasted.

Her footsteps gave her location away. His eyes never left her as she crunched her way through discarded twigs and other general foliage over to him. He made way for her to sit down besides him, which she did. From there she took a moment to gather her breath and collect her thoughts before proceeding. "I'm sorry."

His eyes darted to her for no more than a moment before he was focused on the pond again.

"Booth, there's little more I can say to you that hasn't already been said. That night will forever be the worst mistake I have ever made in my life. I can't properly express to you the amount of guilt I feel. I know you are angered that I brought you up here, in your point of view against your will. I only want what's best for you. That's all I've ever wanted. That, and to erase that night from ever existing and undoing all the damage that I applied to us. Primarily you." She held onto his hand. "I know it will be quite a while before we'll return to where we were. Perhaps we never will. I would understand if you're never able to truly forgive me. But I can only hope you'll give me the chance. I love you."

His eyes narrowed. Hatefully he spit, "love or regret?"

She was thrown off guard. "What?"

"_Booth, I am not doing this. It's absurd. It's childish! A game meant for children to play."_

"_Well then it should be simple, right? C'mon. Just answer. Truth." He kissed her. "Or dare?"_

_The early morning sun shined in on their naked bodies pressed against each other while they laid in bed. Soon they'd have to resign and submit to the world. In the meantime they played in their own hemisphere._

_She sighed. "Fine. Truth."_

_He stroked her hair away from those eyes he lost himself in. "Do you love me?"_

"_You know I do." She smiled._

_He kissed her neck and along the length of her jaw. "So say it."_

"_I love you, Booth."_

"Here… for love or regret?" He repeated. "Regret what you did, or love me?"

"Pity? You think I'm doing all this out of pity?" The tears fell before she knew she was crying. "All this time… is that… what you thought? Booth, I more than admit I made a mistake. Just as I admit I would be by your side regardless, because I value what we have, and what we made together. But guilt is far from the reason I've been so fixated on allowing myself to be involved in your recovery process. I love you. Through all of this I have learned just how deep that love runs for you, and how lost I would be without you. If you'd died…" she shuddered. "I don't know if I ever would have recovered. I love you. I love you so much. And I'm so sorry this happened. I'm so sorry I was a careless fool." She bowed her head. Her entire body shook with her violent sobbing.

Surprised she was when she felt his arms encircle her. "Love you too, Bones."

* * *

><p>"The worst is over now<p>

And we can breathe again"


	19. Tired Fate

Upon arriving back from the woods Booth promptly locked himself away in their bedroom. Brennan didn't pester him to join her. Their forged paths had combined back into one, but that didn't mean there weren't rocks and other debris in their way. If Booth still loved her then all was not lost. She could cling to her last thread of hope. And if time was what he needed, she'd give it to him. However long it took.

She busied her hours with reading. In the early evening while she was making dinner she heard the shower running in the bathroom. Patiently she waited to see if Booth would join her. He had to have been hungry. When he did not she ate alone, trying her best not to be discouraged. They'd reached a milestone today. He'd travel the rest of the way when he was good and ready. Which was why she was so surprised when the bedroom door opened an hour or so later. In a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt he sank down besides her on the couch. He thrust the vocabulary book the hospital had sent with them at her. She accepted it. "You want to work on these?"

He nodded. She cracked the spine and opened to the first page. They worked together for hours until she could plainly see his mind was reaching its limit. His struggles were more pronounced. But overall he'd done well, and seemed to be making faster progress than he had during his entire time at the hospital. _We should have done this from the start, _ she realized as she shut the book. "Lets stop here tonight. I can see you're getting tired."

He didn't deny her. Up he ambled off the couch. In turning to help her he rested a palm against her swollen stomach. "Christine." His eyes met hers for confirmation. "She'll be here soon."

"Yes, she will. And yes, that's the name we decided on." Her heart did back flips. He was remembering much more than he had before. She let him haul her up onto her feet. These days rising was not an easy task for her, as weren't most things. She felt like an over inflated helium balloon ready to pop. Seeing this tender side returning to Booth gave her assurance that she wouldn't be alone when she went into labor. While she knew he would never turn his back on the both of them, she hadn't been sure he'd comprehended the extent of his involvement; the emotional aspect of it.

He assisted her into the bedroom. She held onto his shoulders as he lowered to remove her shoes for her, as well as undo her pants. The grip remained even after her rose back to his full height. "You're not mad at me anymore," she declared softly.

His brow furrowed. His response was timed as he thought hard to express himself. "I'm hurt. But we'll get through it."

"I'm relieved to hear you say that." She hugged him tightly. He shared her sentiment though not nearly as deeply as she did. There was much repair work to be done.

He helped her into bed, crossing the area to get in on his own side. Just as he was setting his weary body down she felt a sharp cramp in her stomach. Her hand immediately rubbed at the area. She couldn't help noticeably wincing. Braxton Hicks. Off and on for months she'd been feeling as though she were ready for labor. Every time Christine had been playing a mind game. Therefore, cramps meant little to her. They were normal. Expected. But Booth was unaware of it. She relaxed back onto her overstuffed pillow once the sensation eased, and found Booth studying her. His face had paled some in color. His eyes showed his internal alarm. She breathed a chuckle. "It's all right. It's just a cramp. I get them every so often. It's no cause for worry."

Silently he observed her for a few more moments without speaking. Her words bounced around his mind like a ping pong ball as he tried to make sense of them. Cramps and pregnancy weren't supposed to go together, or so he'd thought. Was he wrong? Did the information he was sure of post accident get just as jumbled as what he'd forgotten? It was all so tiring, trying to keep up. The emotions that had cycled within him throughout the entire day had left him worn out. Before he'd tried to censor himself he blurted, "I want to be normal again."

Brennan didn't feign her surprise. There'd been no pause in his words. He'd spoken clearly and distinctly. "You will be, Booth. I don't know if you'll ever be completely the same, given the extent of the damage you experienced. But you're improving. Do you remember the hospital? When you first woke?"

He looked down at his hands. Slowly his head indicated his answer. No. Brennan linked one of her hands with his. "You couldn't speak. You couldn't walk. You were unable to breathe properly on your own." The image of the first time she'd seen him came to mind. The bruises. The lacerations. How lost he'd seemed knocked into his coma. She tried to shake the image away. "And look at you now. You're mobile. You can take care of yourself. You've gathered your emotions back under control. With more work I am certain your vocabulary will return. It's just that none of this is a fast process. But I am confident in you. You've proven what you are capable of in a short amount of time." She smiled sadly. "You've always been capable of greatness."

Booth had leaned his shoulder blades back against his pillow. A trance like film had taken over his eyes. Brennan frowned. She squeezed his hand to draw his attention. "What are you thinking about?"

"_So, you still don't believe in fate?" Booth wore a cocky grin. It was the same expression he'd worn since she'd spoken the life altering sentence hours ago. _"I'm pregnant. You're the father." _There on the street corner he'd let out an uncharacteristic whooping sound of joy. The two had rushed home where they'd finished their celebration in bed. Tomorrow they'd inform their colleagues, who no doubt would be just as surprised as he was. The couple had come together in a moment of grief. He'd certainly never expected to receive such a gift in the unfortunate circumstances of another. Whether it was Vincent's death or something else that made her crawl into his bed that night didn't matter. The love they'd felt for one another for so long had been allowed to run free. And in that, they'd created the ultimate prize. Their separate nights of jealousy and loneliness had paid off in the end._

_Brennan twisted her mouth into a knowing smile. She kissed the exposed skin on his upper arm. "No. I do not. But I know you still do. I suppose you think my pregnancy is a sign."_

"_Of course it is." He chuckled. "Look at all we had to go through to get here, Bones. Six years. Do you realize all the things that could have gone wrong? One wrong move and we wouldn't be laying here together. You wouldn't be pregnant. Fate had to work everything out for us. And because it did," he kissed her. "Here we are."_

"_That's not fate, Booth. That's life. It's a path of human experience."_

"_Nope." He laid down flat on his back. "Rationalize it however you want. But fate can't be measured by science. You'll never prove me wrong."_

_She half smiled. "I think I'd like to accept that challenge." Up onto his hips she crawled. He placed his hands on the outside of thighs. "Go ahead. Try and prove me wrong."_

_She bent forward, her hair falling all around their faces as they kissed the passionate kiss of lovers._

"Booth?"

He blinked himself back into reality. "Fate?" His eyebrow raised at her with his question.

"Do I believe in fate? No. Absolutely not. Especially not now. You weren't fated to be in a car accident, Booth."

"What if… I was?"

"No. That's preposterous. Why would you think that?" Tears shone in her eyes at the mere thought.

"Learn. About myself." He squinted at her, hoping his broken words could convey his thoughts. "Challenge. Prove something."

"You have nothing to prove to anyone. This never should have happened to you. And if it is fate, as you seem to still believe, then I want answers for it. You didn't deserve this."

"You didn't either."

His whisper startled her. Wide eyed, she gaped at him. "I think I did. If your hypothesis about fate is correct, then perhaps it was to teach _me_ a lesson. This accident never should have happened to you. I should have better controlled my emotions before verbally assaulting you. I shouldn't have let myself surrender to such foolishness. I don't know if I will ever stop being sorry." She swatted at a tear.

The old Booth would have embraced her. He would have kissed her few tears away. This Booth was unsure of what his actions were supposed to be. "Tired," he murmured for lack of a better response to her. He wiggled himself down lower in between the sheets. She snuggled close to him as he closed his eyes. "I love you," she under toned to him.

"Love," he echoed tiredly.

* * *

><p>"Booth? Booth!"<p>

The bed was shaking with the force of an earthquake. Yet it was the panicked voice calling his name that drew him forth from his dreamy slumber. His eyes opened in the darkness to see Brennan standing over him. Her arms were grasped tightly around her stomach. "I think I'm in labor."


	20. Happy Birthday

Booth's memory may have not been up to par, but he truly couldn't remember a time in which a mere sentence had tail spun him into so much panic. Labor? It was unfathomable. So far as he knew Brennan wasn't near her due date. Or was she? Recalling the detail was difficult for him, and for a moment he was distracted with wondering if he'd ever regain any kind of normal cognitive functioning. In seconds he was wallowing in self pity.

"Booth!" Brennan chided him. "Do you understand me?"

"Fake," he murmured before thinking the better of it. A small sliver of a memory came to him. "Broccoli Hiccup contracts."

There was silence while Brennan tried to determine what he was trying to say. "Braxton Hicks? No. These aren't Braxton Hicks. The sac carrying the amniotic fluid protecting the baby has ruptured and filtered from my body. This often is a sign of early labor. I now realize that the periodic cramps I have been experiencing have been true contractions. I believe our baby is readying to be born."

His eyes frantically darted back and forth. "Can't." He insisted. "Not time yet."

"I can assure you, it can and it is. You need to boil some water and gather some towels. I will find a comfortable position-"

"Hospital!" He burst in. The sheets were tossed away from him in a fury.

"No. I know you don't remember but we discussed this. I planned on giving birth at home."

He pulled his sleep shirt off of his shoulders. Brennan couldn't help but for her eyes to be drawn to the stubborn bruises across his ribs that refused to heal properly. He was immune to her stare, pulling a clean shirt on over his head. "No. I can't. I don't know…" Since he couldn't find the appropriate words he gestured to her round belly. Didn't she understand that he had no idea how to deliver a baby? That some days he felt as though he were functioning at the level of a young child?

"It's all right. It's instinctual. Once I start to crown your fatherly instincts will kick in-"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. Crowning? What did that even mean? "I don't have those. We have to go." _What if there's problems? I can't even deliver a baby, let alone handle the situation if she has trouble._

"Booth, you were with Rebecca when Parker was born. It will come back to you." She moaned as another contraction hardened her muscles. "The closest hospital is still too far. We'll be unable to make it."

Booth refused to back down. "Get dressed. C'mon." He left her in the bedroom alone to take care of herself. He snatched her keys off of the kitchen counter where she'd left them when they'd arrived. Outside he jogged out into the cool air towards her car. Upon unlocking the driver's side door he stopped dead. Until now he hadn't realized the responsibility he had put on himself; what he was asking himself to do. Drive. The last time he'd been behind the wheel had been the night of the accident. His gaze fell down onto his hand which had tightened around the keys. This nightmare was unending. He was unnerved and felt his anxiety increasing with every passing moment. _I don't have time for a panic attack. I have to do this. _

He'd just started the car when Brennan waddled from the house. She'd traded her nightgown for a dress and jacket. She permitted Booth to assist her into the passenger's seat, not commenting when he fastened her seat belt for her. "Booth, we don't have to do this. It's not necessary to travel so far."

"Yes." He breathed. The rushing sound of his pulse in his ears was almost blotting out her voice. He shut the door. He rounded the car and fell down roughly into the driver's seat. A pang of pain in his rib cage near blinded him. His head roared its own brand of anger, echoing throughout his skull. Even his heart turned his against him, throwing a mosh party against his chest walls. He struggled to keep his tense muscles from shaking as he flicked the key in the ignition.

The car came to life. He put the shift into reverse and depressed the pedal. Both of them gasped as the vehicle flew backwards, nearly leaving the gravel road and sliding into a ditch. They jerked to a stop once Booth found the brake. He exhaled. He proceeded to maneuver them back up onto the path. From there he let the car ease itself onto the main road. Again he tried the accelerator. They moved straight forward at a leisurely pace. Every mile that passed without further incident increased his confidence.

_The black water was just waiting to accept him into its watery grave. Should the guard rail snap there would be nothing separating Booth from become a weightless projectile falling down into its clutches. Tightly he scrunched his eyes closed. His body went cold with apprehension._

The memory sent a fresh shiver of fear down his spine. His hands jerked, nearly careening them off the road. _Get yourself together! They're depending on you! _He hardly heard Brennan crying out to him from another contraction.

There was short lived relief as the country road fed out into a highway. As it was the middle of the night there was little traffic. And so despite his uncertainty Booth gave himself the liberty of testing his limits. Twenty or so miles still remained until they reached the turn off for the hospital. If he intended to be there before Brennan gave birth then he had to double the amount of his effort.

"You should pull over," Brennan tried to tell him. "If not for my sake, then for yours." In the glow of the occasional overhead street light she could see the intensity in his stare. He gripped the steering wheel with the strength of pure steel. He breathed heavily. Since they'd left the cabin he hadn't spoken to her or tried to comfort her. She knew all too well that he wasn't all right. This was out of character even for the person he'd become.

Her observations and assumptions of him were all correct. The road stretched out before him had taken on the form of the river. The sporadic headlights from passing cars were lamps shining right into his eyes with the oncoming threat of death. He swallowed hard. Every mile he fought a battle with himself. This had been a step in his recovery that he hadn't been meant to take. At least, not yet.

"I mean it. You have to pull over." Though he could hear her words they made little sense to him. "PULL OVER!" Her aggravation resulted in her screaming shrilly at him. At last she captured his attention. "Don't you understand me? We aren't going to make it to the hospital! I have to push now! She's coming!"

Easily they had another fifteen miles to go. "But-"

"NO! NOW!"

Her strong emotion was doing nothing for his panic. His vision was near lost as he managed to find the side of the road and pull off. Brennan flung open the door. She crawled into the backseat where she laid flat on her back. Booth delayed joining her. Seeing as they had cell reception he dialed for paramedics, reporting what he knew of their location with his restricted communication skills.

"I need you," she told him tearfully once he'd ended the call. "I need your help. Please."

Booth slunk out. His legs felt like rubber, ready to bend and give out at any moment. When he made it to her side she'd already lifted her dress and bent back her legs. He was breathless at the sight. What did she expect of him? Yes, he was aware this was his child. But he had no idea how to assist her. Childbirth was a chapter no one had covered with him. He had no retained knowledge of the "birds and the bees."

"I'm going to push, okay?" She gave him no opportunity to respond. Her body strained with labor. Feeling useless he did no more but watch. When she reached for him he lamely offered her his hand. Before his eyes his child was coming into the world. He'd thought being told she was in labor was terrifying. That was nothing compared to this.

Brennan didn't notice Booth's reluctance. Nature was informing her of all she needed to do. With every push she grunted a sound that was inhuman. Finally as the pressure began to ease within her abdomen she heard the sound of a small child crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She laughed as Booth held up in his hands a tiny baby. He leaned over her to place it in her arms. "Hi," she greeted her. "You're so beautiful." Her gaze lifted to find Booth, who had retreated back out onto the street. "Look what we did." She boasted proudly. "This is your daughter, Booth."

He forced a smile. "Happy… birth... day."

Sirens blared in the distance. Soon they could see the red and blue flashing emergency lights of an ambulance. Brennan hugged Christine tight. "Yes. Happy birthday."

* * *

><p>The parents were separated arriving at the hospital from their trip in the ambulance. Brennan and Christine were to be checked thoroughly. Booth was banished out into the waiting room. He collapsed into a chair and watched the sun rise just outside his window. Now that the real emergence was over his body was crashing down from its natural high. Keeping his eyes open had never been so difficult. Brennan had done all the work and yet he felt exhausted. Ashamed he was of himself. His anguish had gotten in the way of what should have been one of the happiest moments of his life. That familiar cloud of depression rained above him again. Nothing would ever get easier for him. Why bother continuing to try? To those around him he was no more than an utter waste.<p>

When news of his family arrived to him he was completely overwhelmed. He was confronted with more medical personnel than he'd seen in months, not since the beginning of his recovery. Their words weren't clear. Their faces were no more than a blur when he tried to think of them later. He nodded to appear of average intelligence; because that was what he was expected to do. Their smiles gave him more information than their voices. Their happiness had to mean that all was well.

"Would you like to see them?"

He was led into a room within the maternity ward. Brennan had been moved into a bed big enough to fit two full grown men. She cradled Christine as though the newborn were made of glass. She had no intention of letting go anytime soon. Once Booth appeared in the doorway her earlier tears of joy resumed. "Come here," she invited him in. "Come see our daughter."

Booth took no more than a step before his ribs burned with such severe pain that he was about in tears himself. Brennan mistook his emotion for feelings he'd restrained himself from displaying previously. "I know." She gushed. "I can't believe we're parents. We've become a family."

He lowered himself hesitantly to sit at her bedside. The small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket slept with no awareness of the chaos she'd just created for her new parents. He swept the tips of his fingers over her smooth forehead and cheeks. "Beauty-" unsuccessfully he tried to mimic Brennan.

"Yes. She is. She's amazing." She pressed her lips lovingly against his. Booth's affection wasn't nearly as enthusiastic, not that she noticed. All of her attention was firmly centered on the child sleeping in her arms. The decision wasn't conscious, but momentarily Booth had been left to simmer on the back burner.

After both Christine and Brennan had fallen asleep Booth was left up to his own devices. For a short while he remained at their side, watching over the two of them. His stomach burned with churning acid. Feelings of shame and remorse. Christine was his daughter. This was one of the few truths he knew. But instead of being ecstatic at her arrival he felt hollow and confused, and detested himself for being so. He just couldn't connect with the miracle they'd created. He had no way of recognizing that for his part he wasn't entirely at fault. His brain damage was still hindering him in ways he had yet to discover.

His thoughts got the better of him. Since he was struggling not to cry he chose to excuse himself. There was no need to wake anyone with his selfishness. He silently crept from their room. A walk around the hospital sounded like a good distraction. From floor to floor he wandered until somehow he found himself back inside the waiting room for the ER. An ambulance's wail pierced his ears as it streaked by the front of the hospital.

"_We're going to need additional ambulances! We're looking at a lot more fatalities than we thought!"_

Booth fell down into a chair. He stooped over his knees, hugging himself around his sore ribs.

_Voices pleading for their lives joined into a chorus. He could do no more but lie in wait, as the accident had left him fighting just to breathe. His silent pain was all he could use to flag for help._

"Mr. Booth?"

He raised his head. A woman in a nurses' uniform stood before him. Had she been someone who had spoken to him about Brennan? Trying to think back took too much effort. He simply shook his head in clueless agreement.

"Are you all right? You're looking awful pale. I know that can happen sometimes with new fathers." She smiled kindly. "Would you like some water?"

He corrected her. "No. In pain."

"Pain?" She repeated.

He sat up enough to lift the hem on his shirt. The nurses' eyes grew large at the sight of his bruises. "Oh my goodness. I'm sure you are in pain. I'll speak to a doctor. I'm sure we can prescribe you something for that."

His innocent inquest had rewarded him._ Oxycodone. _He fought an urge to lick his lips, graciously nodding instead. His magic potion. Just the thought of having it back in his possession boosted his confidence. The weakly mortal was about to transform back into Zeus. With his medication he was prepared for anything.


	21. Circle The Drain

****"So if its just tonight

The animal inside

Let it live and die" - Ke$ha

* * *

><p><strong>One Month Later<strong>

Brennan ran a brush through her hair before pulling it up off her neck into a ponytail. She smoothed her hands over her clothes, feeling awkward as she did so. The clothes she had worn before her pregnancy no longer fit as though they should. If they didn't stretch across the small bit of weight she'd gained in her stomach then they were tight around her breasts, drawing much more attention that she didn't intend nor want. As she was preparing for her first outing since having Christine she wanted to feel comfortable.

Only when she was satisfied did she turn away from the mirror in the bathroom. She walked across the hall into the bedroom where Booth lay asleep in bed. Christine lay in her carrier besides him on the floor, also lost in a slumber. It would have been sweet had it been a conscious gesture. But Brennan herself had placed the newborn besides her father while she'd been readying to go.

"Booth," she bent down to his level. He opened one eye long enough to acknowledge her. She continued. "I'm going to meet Angela for lunch. I have Christine with me. If you need anything I will have my cell phone."

He gave no motion of understanding. Mere moments passed before he was sound asleep again. She sighed in frustration. Since arriving home from the hospital this was what life had been like for the couple. That first day they'd come in the door to find a small surprise party awaiting them. Brennan was thrilled to be among her friends that she hadn't seen in quite some time. All mingled and spread around the joy. The only one who hadn't been so keen was Booth. By the time the get together was coming to a close she'd noticed he'd disappeared. The scene had been too overwhelming for him. He'd tucked himself between the sheets of his bed and gone to sleep.

That seemed to be where he spent a good portion of his time these days. He was willing to help out with Christine, and had been. He got up several times in the night to feed her a bottle or change her diaper. Around the apartment he assisted with chores. In short he did his best to take care of both Brennan and Christine without being asked or expecting anything in return. But whenever he wasn't engaged in some activity he was sleeping. More often than not she found herself waking him to take care of his own basic needs that he'd suddenly chosen to neglect.

Brennan retrieved Christine. With a diaper bag strapped over her shoulder she made the trip alone out to the car. Traffic was light she found as she drove to the outdoor café Angela had picked out for them. Though it was a mid afternoon on a weekday the business was busy, with a small crowd gathered at the take out counter. After finding a place to park Brennan toted Christine to the table where Angela awaited them.

She rose to her feet once the family drew near. "Sweetie! So glad you could make it." She hugged her tightly, leaving room for Christine in between them. "I know its only been a month but look how big she's gotten!"

"She's growing at a normal rate. And though she eats quite frequently its nothing out of the normal range. She's perfectly healthy." _Unlike Booth._

"She's a darling." Angela held both of Christine's tiny hands. "If you want to sit with her I'll get us something to drink."

"I would like an iced tea." Brennan agreed.

Angela was gone for a good ten minutes before returning with two take out cups. "I didn't realize they were so busy."

"Yes. It's unusual for a Wednesday. You're out of work awful early as well."

Angela half smiled. "Well, there isn't nearly as much to do without you and Booth." She went on to explain the work her colleagues had had to occupy themselves with in her absence. With no murders to solve they'd reverted back into doing museum work. There might have been a lift in Angela's voice but Brennan could determine how bored her friend was; perhaps how bored all of them were. They might have started out working for the Jeffersonian museum but it was forensics that had captured all of their interests, even if it got tiring sometimes.

"So, enough about me. How are you? How are things going with Booth?" She saw her friend's gaze fall down onto the table top. "Uh oh. Not well?"

Brennan exhaled. She organized her thoughts before speaking. She'd been keeping her feelings to herself for so long that it felt strange to be giving them a voice and tossing them onto someone else. "Since Christine's birth he's been very helpful. He interacts with her, in that he sees that all her needs are met. But the way he is with her… its as though he's afraid of her. Parker came over one afternoon to meet her and the way Booth behaved with him was far different."

Angela nodded slowly. "Well, I can see that. I mean, Parker's much bigger. I don't think Booth is all that familiar with babies anymore. He'd probably afraid of doing something wrong, or accidentally hurting her."

"Perhaps. I don't know, Ange. I really thought we'd made such progress out in the wilderness. But since we've come home its as though he's quit on me. He hardly speaks, or engages with me. He sleeps more than he ever has. I don't understand how a single person can sleep so much. I know he isn't awake at night. I feel him when he leaves to tend to Christine, and he always returns to bed right away." She sighed. Getting to talk about this after holding it in for so long was both freeing, and disheartening. "He doesn't seem at all interested in continuing to work on his vocabulary or other cognitive skills. I don't understand what happened."

"Sweetie, it's obvious. He's depressed."

"I know. But why now? Out at the cabin he was making strides in his recovery. We talked out several issues we'd both been side stepping. He told me he loved me." She looked away to try to rid herself of the hot tears that burned her eyes. "I just had our daughter. I thought that alone would be enough of an inspiration to try harder. Instead he prefers to shut himself out from the world. He sleeps."

Angela was silent for a long moment. "Has he been eating?"

"Not often. I have to force him to take care of himself. But he insists he's nauseated quite a lot."

"Sweetie," she gasped sadly. "I think I know what's wrong with him. I think you know, too. You just won't admit it."

Brennan did know; had known. But after all they'd been through it was unfathomable to believe. "He's somehow found a way to obtain pain killers again, and he's abusing them." She shook her head firmly. "I do believe that he's in pain. And I can understand if it's a greater pain than what over the counter medicines are capable of relieving."

"But is it real, Brennan? He's depressed. He doesn't care what happens to him. Whatever he's taking is making him drowsy and letting him escape his problems. Maybe he's getting some sort of high off of it." It killed her to instill that thought into her best friend's head. But it was a real possibility, and Brennan needed to wise up.

Predictably Brennan shuddered. Her voice rose in defense. "No. Not Booth. He wouldn't behave in such a manner."

"Addiction runs in his family. His father was an alcoholic. Look, I don't want to believe it either. But this isn't the old Booth we're talking about. This Booth is lost and in pain. Eventually he's going to develop a tolerance, and he'll keep increasing his dose to try and get rid of that pain. He already overdosed once, sweetie. What if he does it again? What if you're not there to save him?"

"Oh my God." She breathed. It may have been realistic but she was still devastated. "So what do I do? Do I hospitalize him again? Take him back to the same place that failed to help him before?"

"This isn't about helping him right now. It's about keeping him safe from himself."

"What about if he runs from me? What do I do then?"

Angela reached across the table. She firmly gripped Brennan's arm. "Then you do what you didn't do that night. You go after him."

* * *

><p>Booth had made the short commute from the bedroom to the couch when Brennan arrived home. Despite the change in scenery he still slept the deep sleep only induced by powerful medications. She stood over him to watch with a barrage of unanswered questions rolling through her mind. How had Booth managed to get another prescription? When? Why? Why wasn't the birth of his daughter enough to bring him back to life? Why wasn't their love enough? A tear fell down her cheek. "Booth." She pushed at his shoulder.<p>

It took him a few seconds before he squinted up at her. He studied her before asking, "Christine?"

Knowing their confrontation was due to be an all out battle, Brennan had left their daughter in the care of Angela. "She's taken care of. We need to talk."

Those four words were sure to strike panic in the hearts of others. Booth appeared unmoved. He continued to stare at her dully. She inhaled deeply to gather up her strength. "I want to know where you've hidden your pain killers."

He blinked before furrowing his brow. "What?"

"I know you've been consuming some sort of prescription pain reliever. The evidence has been in front of me for some time now. I've been too distracted to see it through. Since you have no desire to take care of yourself its up to me. Now please, tell me where your medication is."

He was on his feet in an instant. "Why?"

"So I can dispose of it, and we can get you proper help."

"Help?" He laughed. "No. Forget it. Can't help. No one. No drugs anyways." His back turned on her.

"Booth, I'm not a fool. I know the symptoms. I see the signs. You're depressed and want relief. I can understand that. But doing this to yourself isn't the answer. It only complicates matters. You deserve better than what you are doing to yourself."

He appeared to her as though a feral animal had taken control of him. "_You_ did to me." He accused.

She winced. She should have been prepared, but the remark was still wounding. "That doesn't matter right now. If you aren't willing to tell me where your medication is I'll be forced to find it myself. I'd really prefer it not come to that. I'd like us to reach an agreement as far as getting you the help you need." She could see that idea was rapidly flying out the window with her hope. "Don't you want to get better? Don't you want to be healthy?"

"No." He barked. His hardened glare sent shivers down her spine. Step by step he was backing away from her. She'd alienated him, and there was little she could do to repair the situation. Not that she would stop trying. "Please. I know you haven't been happy for a long time. I know now that without going through the proper channels nothing is going to change that. No one event is going to undo the damage that's been done to your brain. I should have realized it earlier. But self medicating isn't a solution, either." She brazenly accepted a step forward. "I'm trying, Booth. But you need to meet me half way."

"Leave me alone." He hissed.

She tugged her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth. She should have known he wouldn't make this easy on her. Without another word she left him to stew in the living room. She crossed the apartment until she reached the bathroom where she shut herself in by locking the door. She inhaled to clear her mind. Then she let her eyes guide her mind. Every crevice was examined closely. Every loose floorboard. Every concealed hole in the wall. Above the medicine cabinet over the sink the wood had splintered. Brennan was careful in climbing atop of the toilet lid and leaning over investigate. She used her fingernail to scrape at a small piece. The action was just enough. A chip tipped forward and dropped into the sink. Behind it were several prescription bottles. Her heart forgot how to beat.

She jumped at the sudden sound of Booth pounding on the door. Whatever she intended to do next she needed to decide quickly. A check of the labels told her he'd been taking several different strong pain killers. Each listed a different location on where it'd been filled. What doctor had prescribed it. Going to different doctors to get different scripts was a well known scam run by addicts. "You really _do_ have a problem," she whispered out loud. Before any further action could be taken by either of them she popped off the lids one by one and dumped them into the toilet. Just as the lock gave way on the door she flushed.

The two stood in a face off. Meekly Brennan held up the empty bottles. "You were taking all these at once? This is a deadly combination. Were you trying to harm yourself?"

She received no response. He allowed his face to relax. Blankly his eyes stared straight through her. The last bit of resolve she'd had slipped down the drain. The man she loved; had had a child with; had shouldered all the blame for his current condition, had become a full out danger to himself. Nothing was keeping him tied to reality. He wanted to purge all the pain, regardless of the cost. And in that critical moment she lost sight of herself. "ANSWER ME!" She screamed at him in a voice she'd never heard come out of her before. An open palm shoved him in the chest.

He spoke coldly. "Want to die."

Brennan felt all the air dissipate from the room. She watched in stunned horror as he turned around and walked away. Underneath her nose Booth had hit rock bottom. She'd been so distracted as a new mother she hadn't realized what had been occurring before her very eyes. He'd had no more left to give, and so he'd quit before he'd appropriately gotten a kick start into trying. Well, if he wasn't able to fight for himself then she would.

By the time she caught up with him he was starting out the front door. "Where are you going?"

Booth didn't answer her. But he didn't need to. They both knew the deadly intentions he had in mind. She stood behind him. "Booth, I let you walk out that door once. It was the biggest mistake of my life." Cautiously she took a hold of his wrist. "I won't do it again. Don't go."

"Why stay?"

"Because I love you," she started to cry. "And while I am capable of mastering many things, I don't believe I can learn to live without you. I'm not here out of guilt, or because of Christine. I'm standing here because I love you. I love you so much. And I just want you to get better."

He rotated around to look her in the eyes. Their gaze held. Slowly he started to sink to the floor. She pressed him back against the wall to bring him down into a sitting position. He cried so quietly that she was unaware of his emotions until the tears on his face caught in the light of the lamp mounted over them. It was her action of wrapping her arms around his shoulders that broke the levee. He sobbed harder than she'd ever heard before. They wept, clinging to one another as though they were the only two left on earth.


	22. Fix A Heart

Brennan was at a complete loss as to how to continue forward. That evening she held Booth until his tears ran dry; until he had absolutely no emotion left to give. Tiredly he slumped downwards near flat out onto the floor. Had she not been there he surely would have. He was as malleable as pure modeling putty, giving little resistance in her effort to haul him up onto his feet. She assisted him into the bedroom where she laid him down safely in between the snowy white sheets of their bed. His eyes shut, and within mere seconds he was asleep. Little would wake him now, she knew. The rest that arrived after such an intense emotional storm ran deep. And for that she was grateful. He needed a break from himself.

After letting him settle she crawled into bed to join him on the opposite side. Seeing as he was lying on his back she dared to allow herself to cuddle up to his chest. Tomorrow they'd have to deal with this brand new situation he'd gotten them into. But for tonight she wanted no more than to be able to embrace him; to hold him in her arms away from the hazards of the world. Only there was a price to pay for such affection. She wrapped an arm around his mid section, just over his ribs. With just the slightest bit of pressure his muscles tightened in pain. She immediately withdrew. The tension remained for a few more moments before at last he was able to relax again.

The sigh that filtered out between her parted lips was one of pure frustration. Two steps forward and three steps back. She put a good portion of the blame on herself for his current state. Christine had kept her preoccupied, yes. But the shift in Booth's nature was unmistakable. She'd chosen to ignore it; chosen to believe he would shovel himself out of the hole he'd tunneled himself into. He was a grown man. He shouldn't have been so reliant upon her!

Like it or not, whether they individually realized it or not, he was. Being left to his own devices had near killed him. She understood his depression. Understood every underlying reason for it. The manner in which he'd reacted when she'd done no more than place an arm around him proved the physical pain he'd been experiencing was real. The pills may had been a crutch to help him avoid his problems. But they'd been obtained in hopes of relieving an ailment that little else had been able to assist with. Negativity had been a product of good intentions.

In the morning Brennan chose to let Booth sleep in for as long as he wanted. She figured he needed the rest. He was due for a real fight as gradually his body began to succumb to the inevitable withdrawal symptoms. He would need all the strength he could get; strength she believed that derived from rest.

Christine kept her busy. The baby wailed just as the sun was rising. Brennan brought her into the living room so as she wouldn't wake her father. She laid the infant down in a playpen shortly after feeding her. "We need to be quiet," she hummed at her. "We need not to disturb your father."

The baby giggled, her eyes sparkling up at her mother. Brennan kissed her forehead. She sang her a soft lullaby until the child drifted off. From there she set about taking care of her own basic needs. The shower gave her uninterrupted time to think. Was she better off hospitalizing Booth once again? Purely only doing so for his own safety as he worked the drugs out of his system. _"Want to die," _he'd growled at her. Was he still a considerable danger to himself? What were all their options?

An hour or so later she was dressed and preparing breakfast for herself in the kitchen. Booth padded in just as she was cutting up some fresh fruit. Though she tried to smile the expression was difficult to hold on to. The symptoms had already begun, judging by his runny nose and watery eyes. His shoulders shook with the chills as he pulled a chair away from their table and sat down. He let his head fall into his hands, and shut his eyes.

She tentatively laid a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. "I was just making breakfast. If you like I could put some soup on for you."

Vigorously he shook his head. No food. She frowned. "You're uncomfortable. Would you rather be hospitalized again? I know they have ways of dealing with your situation more appropriately."

"No," his voice was stronger than he felt. "On my own."

"Booth-"

He surprised her by slamming his hands against the table. "Not going back!" Roughly he shoved himself away from her and onto his feet.

"I just want you to feel better." She tried to explain.

He grumbled something unintelligible in response. She could do no more than watch as he slumped back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. She startled at the noise, and Christine began to cry.

The next few days were much of the same. Same flu like symptoms paired with such a deep depression that he could barely pull himself out of bed. He lay awake for hours, unable to relax. His stomach ached, and he rarely was unable to feel anything but nausea. His legs cramped with intense shooting pains. Brennan laid with him at times, though he didn't interact much with her. His hell was his own and he was unwilling to share.

Just as she was readying to phone for reinforcements he broke through onto the next phase. The physical symptoms all cleared themselves up. In its place the depression and anxiety flowed rampant. His sleep was filled with night terrors. His anger was unbridled, and often taken out on her. She was only able to accept so much before she couldn't maintain control anymore. They feuded any time they were in the same room. The situation had become bleaker than ever.

One morning she discovered him in the bedroom sitting on the bed with a stack of pictures spread out in front of him across the bedspread. He picked each one up individually, studying it for a long moment before replacing it and moving on to the next one. Brennan timidly went to his side. "This looks productive. Has it helped jogged any memories?"

He didn't tear his eyes away. "Why can I remember so much… but not at all?"

She sat down besides him. "It'll come back. All of it."

He reached for an image of the two of them. Laughing. Smiling. Out of the blue he dropped a bomb. "Think I should leave."

"Leave?" Brennan repeated. "To go where?"

He stared at her pointedly. The blood drained away from her face as the truth dawned on her. "You mean leave permanently? No, Booth."

"I make us fight." He tried to argue. "You're sad. Not getting better." He pointed to himself in the picture. "Won't be him again."

"Yes, you will."

"How… when… don't know me?"

"You will again. I've been doing research into some clinics I believe will benefit you. These are highly recommended specialists…" Her voice trailed off. He was shaking his head. "No more. Can't. Done."

"You're not done. You've come such a long way. I know there's more in you. I'm well aware that your life will never be what it is. Maybe you'll always have a speech impediment. Maybe you'll always have difficulty with your cognitive abilities. But there's more to you than that. We'll find this man." She put her hand over his, which was still clutching the photograph. "Together."

He hardly looked at her. But something shimmered in his eyes that had been missing. Hope.

* * *

><p>Later on that afternoon Brennan milled around the apartment on her own while Booth napped in his bedroom. Following their conversation she'd remained by his side until it was obvious he'd wanted to be alone. He hadn't asked for it, or given her any mean spirited indications. But she somehow was able to sense he required some time to think, and she graciously gave it to him. She too, desired some time alone. She meant everything she'd said to Booth. She still believed the fight that burned within his heart would precede. Without the hindrance of his addiction they could focus once again on the other matters that needed tending to. They just needed to find the right avenue to further assist him in his recovery. She'd had no idea that that answer would come from Sweets.<p>

She'd been in the middle of making dinner when her phone had begun ringing. It's loud tone seemed to echo in the apartment's silence. She ran to purse to answer it before Booth or Christine could be disturbed. "Brennan."

"Hi, Dr. Brennan. It's Dr. Sweets."

"Yes," she mumbled in annoyance. "My caller ID indicated as such." She turned back to the soup she'd left simmering. He wondered just why he was calling. She'd neither seen nor heard very much from him since they'd arrived home with the baby. Without their working relationship the young doctor didn't have any real reason to be involved in their lives.

"Oh. Yeah." He laughed uncomfortably. "Is this a bad time?"

"I have a narrow window of opportunity before I must wake my family for dinner. You have my attention until that time."

"Okay. Good. I won't waste any of it then. Um, how's Booth doing?"

She sighed. "There's been some issues. They seem to be resolving, but they've taken focus away from the more important matters at hand. He's frustrated, and I am finding that I am unable to help him. Taking over his treatment seemed like a good idea, but I haven't been able to spend much time with him. I don't believe I'm at all beneficial."

"Uh huh." Sweets sounded as though he'd been expecting that answer. "Well, in happening to do some research for another patient of mine I came across a news article I thought you'd be interested in. There's a high profile institute out in California that works specially with victims of TBI's. Their doctors are supposed to be some of the best in the country. They've worked some pretty high profile cases."

Brennan's heart stopped beating. It appeared too good to be true. "You believe they'd be an asset to Booth?"

"I think so. They're pretty hard to get admitted into, but given your high status in society I don't think you'll have any trouble. It's just a matter of if you want to uproot your family again. I know taking him out into the woods didn't do a whole lot of good."

"It did," she relented weakly. "It made some amends, just not the ones that provided any sort of therapy for him."

"It's your choice. I can-"

A loud thump in the bedroom drowned out his voice. From her playpen Christine screamed from the sudden noise. Brennan hurriedly dashed to see just what had happened. Booth was sitting up on the floor, his back leaning against the bed. His head was lowered, and he clutched his wrist tightly to his chest. It was the same wrist that had been broken in the accident. Though she needed x-rays to be sure, she had a strong feeling it'd been broken once again.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Booth was pale, and sweating profusely. He didn't appear to have noticed her presence. She forced herself to swallow. _He had such a terrible dream he flinched straight out of bed. This can't go on. _"Email me that information." She ordered Sweets, then hung up before he could speak another word. She knelt down on one knee. "Booth? May I see?" She gestured to his wrist.

The pain he was in was obvious. Her fingers had hardly probed his skin before he was jerking away. His head rolled back onto his shoulders, and he sighed deeply.

"Did you dream about the accident?" She prodded gently. His silence was enough of a confirmation. Her mind was made up. "I want to take you to the hospital to see what sort of damage was done to your wrist. And then, there's something we need to talk about."

As far as she was concerned, they were California bound.


	23. Livin' On A Prayer

The hospital was a scene of chaos. Since Booth's injury was considered non-life threatening he was forced to wait his turn swallowed up in the waiting room with dozens of other patients left to wait their turn. Being stuck amongst the sick and the injured overwhelmed Booth. Unattended children darted past him, playing their childish imaginary games. Brennan felt him jerk back in his chair in surprise. "It's all right," she crooned to him quietly. She laid a hand over the back of his palm. He tilted his head towards her. So much emotion echoed in his eyes. She left him briefly to retrieve a glass of water for him from a water cooler. Between having her at his side and sipping slowly from the paper cup his shoulders lowered. He was able to drop his guard some.

Brennan spent the next few hours cooling her heels as Booth was taken for x-rays after waiting entirely too long in an exam room. Per her request they took updated images of his ribs as well. By the time he was returned to her his eyes were heavy lidded from the pain and exhaustion. He was given some sort of non narcotic pain killer which was just enough to lull him into a slight sleep.

"I would like it if you would have Dr. Mullins paged, and for him to thoroughly examine the results of his scans." Brennan informed the nurse who was assisting them. "We're willing to wait for him."

He nodded, otherwise mum.

And wait they did. It was a few hours before Dr. Mullins ducked his way into the room. Booth remained asleep, and so the two stepped outside. He led Brennan into a private room where Booth's images were tacked up onto a light box. She needed no explanation, spotting the fracture in Booth's wrist immediately. His ribs appeared to have fared no better. Though she would need to compare the films to be sure it didn't appear he'd done much, if any, healing.

"I wish I had better news." Dr. Mullins sighed. "His wrist broke. His ribs aren't mending. What's taking place is a non unionizing of his-"

"I'm well aware of what it is," Brennan cut him off, not unkindly. "What I want to know is why. His tumble out of bed shouldn't have done such damage to his radius."

"I wish I could tell you. For now what I'm recommending is surgery. We can go in and use pins and plates to repair the damage to his ribs. We can try casting his wrist again but the same procedure may ultimately have to be done. I know it's not what you want to hear."

It really wasn't. Brennan exhaled. She turned her back on the doctor. Putting Booth through such evasive surgery wasn't ideal. Not for her. His body had been put through enough trauma to last a lifetime. But what else could be done? She just wouldn't allow him to spend his life feeling any sort of physical pain.

Just then her phone chirped. She retrieved it from her pocket to see she'd received an email alert. She used to mobile browser to open it. Sweets had forwarded her the information on the California institute. It was located near the town of Half Moon Bay. A phone number was attached, as well as names of several different specialists who operated out of the center. While cognitive functioning and psychotherapy were the main issues dealt with, Brennan couldn't help wondering if they would be able to assist with Booth's physical injuries as well. She closed it, and whirled back around to face Dr. Mullins. "Cast his wrist for now. I have no desire to take any further action than that at this time."

Dr. Mullins rightfully raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I know-"

"There's some research I need to do. Once I am satisfied with the information I will obtain I will be able to make a solid decision on how we should continue."

The man clearly wasn't pleased, but nodded. "All right."

* * *

><p>The next month was filled with a series of changes for the couple. Booth was unhappy to be immobilized in a cast again, but was relieved he'd dodged a bullet in not being forced into surgery. He occupied a good portion of his time around Brennan as she conducted her research into the institute. She made phone calls in addition to scouring the internet to dig up information on the three doctors. They were well respected, and had seemingly performed miracles on individuals who had such severe disabilities they'd long given up. Those on the brink of insanity had been restored to a working condition. And those like Booth, whom had suffered from addiction and debilitating depression due to the decrease of their cognitive abilities, had been given a second chance at leading a productive life.<p>

Getting Booth admitted into the institute was another story. "I'm sorry ma'am. But we'll full right now." A nasal toned receptionist informed Brennan over the phone. "I think we might have an opening at the end of the month."

Brennan had locked herself away in Booth's bedroom for privacy. She cracked the door to peek out at him. He was laying on his couch. His eyes were closed, and his bulky cast was resting on his stomach. He'd waited and waited for the miracle that had never come. Brennan pressed her lips together. "Might" wasn't good enough. She owed it to him. "I understand you're popular. But I don't think you comprehend our situation."

The conversation stretched on for a half an hour. Brennan did all but threaten bodily harm to achieve her goal. She dropped her name, something she only cared to do when she deemed it absolutely necessary. Sweets had been right. Given her strong words and standing in society she secured Booth a spot at the end of the month. In the meantime they would just have to play the waiting game for a bit longer.

When she informed him of her plans he didn't seem all that affected, or interested. She had to figure he was frustrated and unwilling to fuel all his hope into any unsure method. Maybe she was certain, but he was skeptical. Not that she could blame him, after all he'd been through. She let his reaction roll off of her shoulders. Once they were breathing in the fresh California air he'd been singing a different tune.

That was why his sudden shift in behavior came as a surprise to her. It all started one morning in which she woke up alone. The sheets were rumpled on Booth's side. Christine was missing from her crib. In a panic she leapt out of bed. She hurried across the wooden floor until a glimpse of Booth stopped her in her tracks. Quietly she watched.

He'd sat himself down on his couch. In his lap lay the vocabulary book she'd been given for him to work on. His brow was furrowed, and it was plain to see he was studying the words intensely. He didn't speak, but his lips tried out the sentences printed before him. He ran his fingers over the smooth ink of each word. On the floor besides him Christine lay sleeping in her carrier. His foot gently rocked her back and forth.

That evening his hard work continued. That afternoon he and his daughter had taken a nap. Brennan was awake in the kitchen working on her laptop when he strode in. She didn't glance up from the screen. "Are you feeling hungry?"

A nod.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like for dinner?"

He stopped, and let out the kind of sigh breathed before a large effort. His words were still a bit slurred, and he spoke at a pace much slower than that of an average person. But her heart near stopped to hear him say, "I… would… like… to… order… a… piz-za."

Her mouth fell open. He appeared so pleased with himself that she had to chuckle in astonishment. "And… is there anything you'd like on it?"

He bit his lower lip, and raised his eyes upwards while he thought about her question. "Just… cheese."

She stood up and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. He hugged her, pulling away after a moment to tell her earnestly, "trying."

"Yes." She grinned. "Yes, you are."

The changes continued. When he was able he did his best to speak in complete sentences. He still struggled at times, which she expected. But after being stalled for so long it was progress; progress she hadn't expected. Leaving for California was the right plan. Booth was at last in a place where he was willing to let himself be helped.

The night before they were due to go they settled into bed early, as their plane ride was scheduled for first thing in the morning. Their bags sat packed by the front door. Christine had fallen asleep long ago in her crib, though they both knew well she'd end up waking them at some point during the night.

Brennan was sitting on the edge of the bed when Booth shuffled into the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, gazing at her with a lustful look that she hadn't seen in a while, probably since before the accident. "Booth?" She breathed.

He approached. He knelt to her level and kissed her. The tips of his fingertips swept across the bare skin of her outer thigh that her nightgown left exposed. It'd been so long since they'd been intimate that these small touches were all she needed to feel that familiar aching inside. He brought his mouth to her neck, which increased the throbbing. She exhaled a sigh. "I miss you." Instantly after she winced.

He pulled back to study her with an indefinable expression. She lowered her head in shame. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying. I-"

He kissed her again, pressing his body close to hers. His good hand slid up underneath her nightgown, snaking upwards to run his roughened palm over each of her breasts. She shuddered. "We shouldn't do this."

"Don't… want to?" He whispered against her lips.

"Yes. I have quite a lot of pent up unresolved sexual feelings. But you're injur-"

He rose to his feet enough to lay her down. She lifted her back as soon as she felt him attempt to push her nightgown away from her body. Her mind was still cautioning her against this. They were risking further damage to his already beaten ribs. Those warnings dissipated the moment his mouth latched onto one of her hardened nipples. She held onto the back of his head, pulling him tighter against her.

She had to marvel at him. His unease with her was gone, and the experienced lover had taken over. Clothes were dropped onto the floor in a frenzy. He kept her at the end of the bed to prevent himself from putting too much pressure on his ribs. Pain wouldn't stop him. Making love was far more important.

If possible, she would have relived the moment he inserted himself inside of her forever. She gasped, grasping onto his shoulders while he repeatedly buried himself deeper and deeper within her. Her orgasm hit fast and hard. Her legs clamped around his waist. She cried out his name.

He was only able to manage so much more before he too, reached the place of ecstasy he hadn't visited in such a long time. He kissed her tenderly before collapsing down besides her onto his back. They both struggled to return their breathing to normal. He'd just placed an arm around her waist when Christine let out a powerful wail. Brennan was the first to rise. "I'll get her." She kissed him. "You rest."

She threw on her robe and tended to her daughter. By the time she returned Booth had crawled under the covers, having already drifted off. She lovingly kissed his cheek. This was an encouraging start to what she hoped was the beginning of the end of his suffering. They'd make it.


	24. Panic Switch

The absence of Booth from their bedroom in the morning wasn't an immediate cause of concern for Brennan. Considering the intimate act they'd engaged in she was more than optimistic. Bit by bit, inch by inch, Booth was returning to her. They'd made it up the hill that consisted of their problems. Reaching the other side - it would be nothing but smooth sailing from there on out. California would be the last missing piece of the puzzle. All would be sorted out.

She dressed herself before looking for him. She'd figured he'd gone into the living room, as that was typically his routine. But unlike so many times before she didn't find him studying his vocabulary book. He was sitting upright on the couch, his casted arm around his stomach protectively. His head was tilted back onto his shoulders. His eyes were clenched shut. Brennan's heart missed a beat. "Booth?"

He took his time opening his eyes to her. She frowned. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Her questions went unanswered. He didn't acknowledge them. She leaned over him. If she had to guess, his wrist and ribs were bothering him. But then why not just admit it? Who was the "tough guy" act for? "Did you take anything?" She tried again. "I can get you some aspirin."

He pushed himself away from her. She was forced to surrender. Pressing him would do no good. He wasn't willing to share the source for whatever was troubling him. She wouldn't risk undoing all the good that had already been done just to receive an answer. Not when they were so close to getting his life turned back around. "The car that will be taking us to the airport will be here in an hour. We should get ready."

It was just barely in the nick of time that they finished ahead of their car. Booth carried their luggage downstairs piece by piece, ignoring Brennan's repeated offerings of assistance. She finally chose to get Christine settled instead, buckling her safely into her car seat. The baby's eyes sparkled at her mother. Brennan pressed her lips against her forehead. "I wish I knew what to do," she admitted to her in a whisper.

The drive to the airport was silent. The sun was only just beginning to rise to cloudy skies. Brennan hoped it wasn't an omen. Being grounded just wasn't an option. Not today, of all days.

Inside the airport they were forced to wait in line and muddle through the normal security procedures. Booth clearly did not remember what the standard boarding experience was like. Even if he had, whenever he'd flown in the past it'd been under the guise of his FBI status. There hadn't been nearly so much rigmarole. Now he was barely able to hide his impatience at waiting in line. Standing still for long periods of time seemed to be difficult for him. He didn't appreciate having to remove his shoes, and he only just tolerated being scanned with a metal detecting wand after just walking through a detector machine. By the time they sat down in the correct terminal he was seething in his own silent storm.

Brennan left him to purchase a bottle of water. She brought it back to him and twisted off the cap. "Just sip this," she advised. "And try to relax."

Begrudgingly he did as she suggested. She watched him in confusion. What was the cause for such great upset? Just what had happened to him during the overnight hours that had rubbed his nerves raw? That had drawn him back into his shell? Over his appearance she cast a critical eye. He appeared worn out. "Did you sleep last night?" She tried asking him.

He shook his head no. This too, was mind boggling to her. He'd been resting so peacefully when she'd settled in for the night. She had started to open her mouth to question him further when their boarding letter was called. "That's us." She stood.

Booth's quizzical eyes met hers. _So soon? _Obviously he recalled enough from the past to remember that neither one of them ever boarded first, no matter what seat grade they were flying.

"Disabled passengers are permitted to board ahead of-"

"Dis… abed… duh?" Judging by his expression he was horrified at the label. Astounded that she'd let his secret onto others. In an aggravated rush he stood up on his feet. This wasn't acceptable.

"Booth, in the opinion of the airline your condition qualifies you for disabled status. There's nothing wrong with it. It's meant to be beneficial-"

"You… told… them… I… was… dis-abed-duh?" This was a betrayal. There'd been no need for an accommodation. His eyes darkened from anger.

"It was necessary. Please." She took a hold of his good hand. "We can discuss this later. Lets just get on board."

He obediently followed, though he let her know through his mannerisms how unhappy he was. She'd gotten them tickets in first class. Together they sat down in the first row of seats. Not a word was said as gradually more people trickled onto the plane and into their appointed areas. Booth reclined the back of his chair and shut his eyes. Brennan decided to leave him be. Sleep was probably what he needed. She chose to entertain Christine, who was strapped in her carrier in between the two parents. She fed her a bottle, hoping to lure the baby into a nap for the entire flight. Her ploy worked. By the time she'd about finished her eyes were already beginning to close.

If Christine had caused a fuss during the flight Brennan would have expected it. She would have been able to handle it. However, she was unprepared for Booth to struggle through a difficult time. He managed to sleep through take off. But he was rudely awakened once they were up in the air. Brennan had had no idea he was in any distress until she'd glanced up from the book she'd toted along and found him cradling his head. The novel was forgotten about at once. "Booth?"

He was sheer white, and sweating lightly. His jaw was clenched. He forced his eyes open to look at her. Heavily he breathed a hissing sound through his teeth. The pain in his head was unbearable. Sporadically his muscles quivered from the strain. She could see how hard he was trying to keep himself restrained. Worriedly she set her hand on his shoulder. "Booth?"

He wasn't hearing her. The sound of the engines, though almost ignorable to others, were like demons shrieking in his ears. Anytime he shut his eyes he was tormented with scenes from his car accident. It was for the sake of others he was just barely holding onto self control. An airplane was not an appropriate venue to succumb to both the pain and panic he was feeling. Too many others were around. He could feel their eyes on him. The world was caving in. Maintaining a normal breathing pattern became impossible. He freely gasped.

A few voices broke through the hurricane, though he couldn't make heads nor tails of what was being said. He felt someone tug on his arm, encouraging him up onto his feet. His mind had turned into mush. His actions were no longer his own. He let himself be led behind a red curtain. Down he was pushed onto his rear on the edge of a seat. A hand gently pressed on his neck, forcing him to bow his head down between his knees. The shock of a cold towel sent a shiver down his spine.

"Just try to breathe slowly," a voice advised him. Was it Brennan? He couldn't decide. Perhaps it didn't matter. He tried to focus solely on his breathing; his racing heart. Hard he tried to banish the terrifying images from his mind. _Think of Bones. Or Christine. Think of both of them. _Several more tense minutes had to pass before Booth was able to pull himself back together. He straightened again, though he nearly toppled to one side in the effort.

"Just relax." Brennan held onto his shoulders. He gazed dully up into her eyes. Just beyond her he could see a stewardess. Away from the first class section he'd been taken into the cabin meant for flight attendants. "I'm… sorry." He tried to tell them.

"It's all right, Booth. Is your head hurting?" She tried to ask him. "Is that what started this?"

Come to think of it, it was. Now that the panic was settling he was feeling what the adrenaline had been blocking out. The top of his brain felt as though it were being dug into with an ice pick. He swallowed a wad of emotion that was obstructing his throat, and nodded. The stewardess handed him a chilled bottle of water. He managed to silently give her a sign of his gratitude.

"I think the worst is over," she told the couple kindly. "You'll have to return to your seats eventually, but you can take a few more minutes."

Brennan chose to kneel down beside him. She wouldn't break eye contact. "I'm sorry, Booth. Perhaps flying wasn't the best option. I thought the cabins would be properly pressurized."

She might as well have been speaking Latin. "Christine?" He questioned. His daughter was nowhere to be seen.

"It's all right. One of the other attendants is watching her. She's been sleeping. You didn't wake her."

He let out one last deep sigh. "I… had… a bad… dream. I… dreamed… the… plane… crashed."

"Did you dream this last night?" That explained quite a lot to her. No doubt his anxiety combined with the sudden searing pain in his head had been the conduit for the panic attack. That was precisely why he'd been in such a sour mood all morning. He'd been trying to downplay his fright.

"Yeah." He groaned. She hugged him to her. "It'll be all right."

One thing was for sure, they were making other travel arrangements to get home. As far as she was concerned Booth would never step foot on another airplane again.

* * *

><p>Things only began to look up from there. The plane landed without any further incident. Booth shuffled numbly through the motions. The attack had sapped what little energy he'd had left. Loading into the taxi; arriving at the institute. Neither of these events registered in his mind. Welcoming words were exchanged in the front lobby at check in. Booth floated behind Brennan who brought her family to the room they'd been given to stay in. He collapsed onto the bed without another word. And there he slept for hours.<p>

By the time he woke it was dark out. He sat up in bed feeling much like Rip Van Winkle. Nothing in his environment was familiar. Out of bed he tumbled to find he was alone. Across the floor he took tentative steps until something resembling a turquoise light caught his eye. Curiously he followed it straight to a sliding glass door. He threw it open and entered another world.

The balcony looked out over the Pacific ocean. A warm easterly wind blew salty sea air against his cheeks. Down below tinkling white lights danced over a railing that extended the length of the beach. Gulls yelped overhead. The sound of the waves meeting the shore was soothing. He shut his eyes, and smiled.


	25. New Divide

"So, what would you say is Booth's biggest obstacle?"

Brennan was unable to answer the question posed to her right away. She had Christine sitting upright in her lap. The baby's tiny hands were pressed into the palms of her own. Before Dr. Ronald had knocked upon their door requesting their presence Booth had fallen into a deep sleep. After all he'd been through Brennan had absolutely no intention of waking him up. She'd made a split second decision to bring her daughter with her. Nothing was to disturb him. She'd take all the precautions possible to see to it.

The question rolled around her mind as she carefully thought out her answer. "Himself," she finally said simply. "He's easily frustrated by his new limitations. Tasks that were once simple for him are now a complex thought out process. There's much that he still can't do, and I'm afraid he never will be able to do them again. I believe he has similar fears, and at times he allows that emotion to hold him back." She sighed. "To be fair, he's come a long way from where he once was immediately following the accident. I am somewhat satisfied with his progress, but I believe more can and should be done. I know he feels the same way. He wants to try to hold the mental capacity he used to have."

Dr. Ronald was jotting things down in a file as she spoke. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, or discourage either one of you in any way. But all of his medical files were sent to me. His TBI was severe. It's a possibility that he'll never be able to function normally. He'll never totally be the person that he was before the accident."

"I understand that." Brennan said respectfully. "But I also am well aware of what he is capable of. If he believes he can do it, then so do I. Booth is resilient in the face of adversity. Given the proper tools he'll find his way. That's exactly why I brought him here."

The doctor nodded. Brennan had already noticed during their brief interaction that Dr. Ronald was a rather quiet man. Words were not wasted on him, and he chose them as though they were a handful of cards in a poker game. She wasn't entirely sure what to think of his quiet intensity. Perhaps that strength would transfer over onto Booth. She could only hope for so much.

"In reading over his files I noticed there's been a great amount of concern over the amount of pain he's been in, as well as a failure of his bones to mend properly."

"Yes. His wrist had been declared healed and free of a cast when he fell out of bed and broke it all over again. His ribs have never healed. He favors them constantly. He used to be very forward in life. Now I have noticed that his pain causes him to question every activity before he engages."

More writing. Dr. Ronald's pen couldn't move fast enough. "What would you say his pain level is? Ten being the greatest, of course."

She didn't hesitate. "A nine. There's only so much that can be done due to his previous addiction to narcotic pain killers. Aspirin and ibuprofen aren't able to do much other than take the edge off."

His bushy eyebrows rose above his brow with shock. "That's something we'll address immediately. How are his sleeping habits?"

"He sleeps a lot. I've been told that that is an indication of depression, and I have definitely witnessed other signs. His sadness… his addiction was partially derived from it." She exhaled sadly. "He's been slightly more upbeat lately. The knowledge that he was coming here gave him some hope. But otherwise his depression is severe. He admitted to me that for a while he was considering suicide. He suffers nightmares almost nightly. His eating habits have improved, but for some time getting him to eat was difficult."

Dr. Ronald nodded. "Those are all the questions I have for his evaluation. I will pull him into a meeting tomorrow and compare your answers. In the meantime is there anything else you think I should know? Any expectations you want to address?"

"I am a doctor in forensic anthropology. I know kinesiology. I am more than well versed in how the body functions. I have never heard of such a condition, but it is possible that the non unionizing of his bones is in any way related to his head injury which seems to also be healing at a slow rate?"

"I'm not familiar with anything of the sort, but there's always a first for everything. I'll confer with my colleagues and do some research, as well."

Brennan stood to leave. "Whatever is done… please, just help him," she pleaded. "I have no other options for him beyond this institute. I'm afraid without intervention I will lose him. I can't allow that to happen. I love him too much to let him go. He's been through hell." She stared poignantly at the doctor. Every word was pronounced distinctively. "It's time he got some relief."

"I more than agree with you. I'll work up a care plan for him tonight, and we'll get it started tomorrow. I'll do everything in my power to help the two of you. But I'll warn you, it's not going to be an easy road."

"I'm prepared." Brennan looked to Christine. The baby's eyes sparkled back at her. "_We're _prepared."

* * *

><p>Brennan was understandably panicked when she entered her empty room not more than five minutes later. The sheets on the side of the bed where Booth had been resting were rumpled at the bottom of the mattress, as though he'd thrown them away from his body in a fit. Her heart pounded a tempo in her ears as she laid Christine down in her carrier to sleep. When she straightened she noticed for the first time the door to the balcony had been left ajar. <em>Booth. <em>Across the floor she traced his steps, until she was standing on the wooden floorboards outside.

Sure enough, that was where Booth had positioned himself. He'd chosen to sit down in the far left hand corner, where he could sit with a clear view of the ocean. His eyes were closed. Brennan thought him at first to be in some sort of meditative state. "Booth?"

He wasn't responsive. His eyes opened to linger out over the waves as they rose up onto the shore. Brennan dropped down onto one knee besides him. "Booth?" She tried again, a tremor of worry clearly evident in her voice.

After a moment he emerged from whatever fog had settled over him. He turned to her, blinking a few times before giving her a lazy, exhausted smile. "Where… were… you?"

_Where were you? _She wanted to retort. "Your doctor stopped by to gather some information about you. Since you were sleeping I chose not to wake you. Are you feeling better? You slept for quite a while." She watched closely as his face voided of an expression for a second time. Her words were lost in the tangled, tattered web of his mind. Judging by the way his eyes transformed, he was shutting down on her. She tried to remain calm. "Booth." Gently she shook his shoulder.

For a second time there was a delay before he returned her exchange. She frowned. "You're acting oddly. Did you take something?"

"No." His voice was as innocent as a child's. "Tired."

"Return to bed. You can rest. I just laid Christine down for the night. It's likely-"

"Different tired." He tried to explain. "I worry… all… the time. Tired of it." He shook his head.

She twisted her body so as she was able to sit down next to him. "What is it that you're worried about?" She knew, of course. But she had a feeling he needed to talk his issues out in the best manner that he was able.

"Me. Christine. You."

"Why do you worry about us?"

He quieted. She slipped her hand into his. "Booth? Please tell me. What are you thinking?"

Several tense moments passed before he was able to confide in her. "Worry… if I'm gone… what… happen to you?"

"Why would you be gone?" She tried not to think the worst, but it consumed her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. "Has your depression worsened again? Booth, this isn't your last hope. If this doesn't work then we'll keep searching until we find something that does. I won't give up on you. So long as you keep fighting, so will I. Giving up just isn't the answer for us. I will not allow it to be in your newfound vocabulary."

Booth was no longer listening, as far as she could tell. She stood up and offered him a hand to do the same. "Lets just lay down for a while. I can't imagine that compact position is all that comfortable for your ribs."

For a third time he obeyed her request after a pause. He allowed her to assist him onto his feet. Together the two strayed back into the room. Brennan left the screen latched across the entry, and the door open so as the room could fill with the fresh, sea air. Then she lapsed down on top of the covers besides Booth. Tentatively she placed an arm possessively around his chest. While he drifted off fairly easily she remained unable to relax. The change in his behavior bothered her immensely. What was taking place within that complicated mind of his? Was there such a thing as backsliding?

She had a feeling they'd arrived in California in the nick of time.

* * *

><p>In the early morning hours, just as the sun was beginning to rise up to greet an overcast sky, Brennan woke in the pale light to discover she was alone in their bed. With the exception of Christine she was alone in their room, for that matter. She bolted upright in bed. A thousand equally frightening thoughts sped through her mind at a breakneck pace. She reflected back upon the conversation they'd had before bed. <em>What if he gave up? What if he's done something to himself? <em>The blankets were thrown back as she scurried out of bed. Time was valuable. She couldn't afford to lose any more.

Since the halls of the institute were mostly vacant she permitted herself to run as fast as she desired. Her heart beat raced faster than her feet could move. _How could I let this happen? I thought I could trust him. I thought this would be beneficial for us. Where would he go? We don't know the area. Why would he do this? _Simultaneously she felt like screaming and beating her fists against a brick wall until they were raw and bloody.

No one was around to stop her from escaping out of the institute's front doors. It was there on the front drive that she came to a dead stop. In amongst the quiet noises of the ocean and birds making their overhead rounds, she could hear a being splashing about the waves. Tentatively she took a few steps towards the shoreline. What awaited her soothed her nerves, and actually produced a genuine smile on her face.

Booth had stripped down to his boxer shorts and wadded into the ocean. He was just far enough away from the beach that should he run into trouble he was still close enough to swim in. He was floating on his back, letting his battered body bob with the waves that washed over him. Sporadically he'd give a kick to keep himself moving. At his sides his arms were stretched out as far as they would go.

This display alone pleased her. But it was seeing his radiant grin across the distance in which they were separated that really warmed her heart, and swelled her chest with hope.

Booth had finally discovered a way to relieve some of his physical pain.


	26. False Start

Booth met Brennan back along the shoreline. While he'd been splashing around she'd gone back inside to their room to fetch a few towels for him. Despite California being a sunny state full of warmth that morning had arrived with a chill. Therefore when he'd swum out of the waves she'd been ready. Affectionately she wrapped a towel around his shoulders. He gave her the smallest sliver of a smile. Nothing really needed to be said between them. They both already knew how the other was feeling. Everything was right in the universe. It was enough.

This truly was a new beginning.

* * *

><p><strong>A few days later<strong>

Booth felt like a fugitive; like a criminal who was in exile after committing a heinous crime. He stumbled down the beach with wide eyes, trying to be on the lookout for anyone whom might try to haul him back inside the institute. He had no plans of permanently disappearing. After all he and Brennan had been through he refused to put her through that. He also wished no ill on the staff that had been attempting to help him. He simply needed a break.

Shortly after returning from his swim that first morning he'd been taken into a meeting to see Dr. Ronald for himself. On the spot a schedule had been decided for him that he was expected to adhere to. His new regime was to begin immediately. Suddenly all of his free will had been taken away. Staff directed what he was to eat, and when. He was shuffled from one therapist to another. Cognitive therapy began in the morning. After lunch came physical therapy. Afterwards he was permitted to rest for so long before he was to be fetched for dinner. He felt pigeonholed, and slightly timid. The unknown shook what little confidence he had.

Cognitive therapy did not start out well. Booth had barely seated himself in front of the two women that served as his counselors before they were pressuring him to share the chronological timeline of his accident to them. The accident wasn't a topic he enjoyed talking about. Even if it had been his limited vocabulary hindered his ability to relay his complete thoughts and feelings. They were asking for too much, too soon.

Until that moment he'd never realized that he'd lost track of linear time as it had occurred that day. Though the events were still floating around his subconscious he had no idea what took place when. They were random snapshots that didn't line up as they were supposed to. Just as quickly as they'd appear they dissipated into thin air. When therapy had at last been declared over he'd felt more confused and frustrated than he had when he'd sat down. It'd been a relief to be dismissed.

All during lunch he had been eagerly awaiting starting the second half of his day. His mind might had still been a confounded mess but his muscles were stronger than ever. He awaited showboating his physical prowess.

"Okay," his physical therapist had clapped her hands together after introducing herself as Becky. He'd barely gotten inside the gym before she'd seized on him. The facilities were spectacular. The room was the size of a football field. Machines in the likes that Booth had never seen before called to him like long lost friends. Beyond them was an Olympic size swimming pool, and a Jacuzzi.

"Lets see what you got. Go ahead and show me what routines your old therapist was putting you through." She'd invited him.

Booth had taken to the machines like a gladiator. He'd powered through his workout out, subduing the pain and releasing the anguish and aggression that was burning up his insides. By the time he was finished he was bathed in his own sweat. He was exhausted, and felt ready to collapse. But his chest was swollen with pride. He glowed radiantly.

All long she'd stood solitary in the center of the gym observing him. "Mmhmm," she hummed. "It's no wonder you're in pain. If that's those are the exercises she was having you perform than you're lucky you aren't crippled. You are to forget everything you've learned. Go rest up. We'll start fresh tomorrow."

He'd been disheartened when he'd joined Brennan and Christine back in his room. The two were laying on the bed. Shopping bags with items inside were scattered among the floor. Obviously while he'd been busy they'd gone sight seeing. "How'd it go?" She'd asked.

He'd merely grunted in her direction before taking himself to the shower.

The days since then had been almost identical. His mornings were overwhelming and passed by with bewilderment, as he often had difficulty understanding what his counselors required of him. The words in which they showed him from a work book mixed together before his eyes, becoming a jumbled mess. When he reached physical therapy he was ready to explode. However, the gym provided him with no release. His therapist had incorporated yoga-like poses into a routine for him. There was no taking to the machines. No pushing himself beyond his capabilities.

"We need to go easy on your joints and muscles. Going in headstrong only poses a risk of worsening your injuries, which I can we both can agree is something to avoid." She'd told him.

He'd gazed longingly at a resistance machine. _This is bullshit._

It occurred to him to confide in Brennan. Yet every time he tried to piece together enough words to express his feelings to her, he found himself stopping short. Since they'd arrived in California a transformation had taken place within her. A boulder had been lifted from her shoulders. He recognized the light in her eyes as being a fire of hope burning bright. He couldn't bring himself to be the one to extinguish it.

And so he struggled to keep his mounting aggravation to himself. As a result he suffered alarming consequences. He rarely was able to achieve a full night's rest. Nightmares and other terrors enjoyed torturing him. The mixture of fear, disappointment, and pain churned itself into a potion for depression. Every day he sunk lower and lower into a pit he couldn't climb out of.

That afternoon after another fruitless endeavor in therapy he'd had enough. He needed a break for himself; some time in isolation where he could appropriately gather his thoughts and wallow in his own self pity. Matters had been taken into his own hands. Without being detected he'd slipped by the front desk out onto the beach. Through the sand he'd been walking, searching for the perfect place to lie down for a while.

Once he felt he was a safe enough distance away he located his oasis. The warm sand caressed his body as he laid down into it. He rolled onto his back, and shut his eyes. The sounds of nature washed over him. The soothing sounds reduced the tension in his muscles. _I don't want to do this anymore. I don't think I can go on like this. These people aren't any more helpful than the others. There's no hope for me. _He opened his eyes and raised them to the heavens. _There's no hope._

* * *

><p>It was only by the grace of God that Brennan stumbled across Booth's body hours later. Having realized he'd gone missing after failing to return to his room after therapy, the institute had gone into a frenzy trying to find him. Soon as she'd found someone to watch Christine, Brennan had joined the search party. Her first thought was to comb the beach where he liked to frequent. She was relieved to see her hunch had been correct. Besides him she knelt on one knee. "Booth?"<p>

His eyes remained closed. He breathed evenly, and shallow. A swift wind kicked up sand into their faces. He didn't move a muscle to shield himself. Brennan frantically tried again. "Booth? Are you all right?"

There was a significant delay in his response. His dull eyes peered up into her own. There was absolutely no emotion behind them. He was cold; unfeeling. She laid a hand on his upper arm and squeezed it affectionately. "We've been worried about you. You should come back inside and warm up. I have to imagine you are hungry now, as well."

He didn't budge. His eyes fluttered closed again. Brennan swallowed down a pang of anxiety. "What is it, Booth? Are you depressed? Are you in pain? I know something is wrong. Your mannerisms are telling me all I need to know. I just want to help you."

He was still immune to her, leaving her to play guessing games. "_Are_ you in pain?"

After a beat, he nodded.

"_Are_ you depressed?"

A nod.

"Significantly, if I was to judge. Booth, that's all right. We can fix these things. I discussed remedies with Dr. Ronald. That is our fault for not following through. I will speak with him again. We'll remove you from this state of desperation."

At last he finally broke free from his cocoon. He rolled over onto his back and tilted his head in her direction. "Can't do this, Bones. Nothing changes. Here was to… change. Nothing."

"There have been changes, Booth. You may not be able to see it within yourself, but you're getting better."

"No." He argued. "Here like home. It's like home. Nothing changed. Same results."

She smiled slightly. "We've only been here a few days. Of course there are going to be similarities in your treatment. But you have to give it a chance."

"Don't want to. Not anymore."

"Booth, what are you saying?" His silence put a knife through her heart. "You can't give up. We're too close. You aren't thinking clearly at the moment. Everything you are feeling has been induced by the injuries to your brain. I'm sure you have a chemical imbalance that's been brought forth by-" She cut herself off. He wasn't listening. She fell back on the crutch she knew would get his attention. She brought her mouth down to his, and kissed him with all her heart had to offer.

He kissed back, his body rising upwards towards hers from the sand. She accepted him into her arms. "Just a little more time," she whispered in his ear. "Please. I know its difficult for you to see right now, but I believe this is our solution. This is the answer if you can just remain patient." She gazed into his eyes. "Please."

He glanced from her back out onto the smooth surface of the grayed ocean. She watched a hailstorm of emotions flicker behind his eyes. Then out of the blue he awkwardly rose to his feet. "Okay." He agreed. "I can."

She too, stood up. "Thank you."

"I'm trying." He reminded her.

"I know. You are doing remarkably well." She kissed him. "Now its time to leave the rest to us."


	27. Forward

_Brennan could hear the collision from miles away. Her body shifted violently as though she herself were involved in the crash. Her heart stopped beating in her chest. Panic forced bile into the back of her throat. Though nowhere near the scene she could smell the smoke billowing from the cracked engines; the fires burning beneath the hood. She could see a shattered windshield stained with blood. His blood. There was no time to waste. Finding him was a necessity. Without him she felt as though she were unable to breathe._

_Cold, dewy fog enveloped her as she ran down the icy coated asphalt. Mist clung to her hair and dripped off of the tips. It slowed her down, turning her lightweight clothes into a cloak of armor. A heavy one, at that. The nuisance wouldn't deter her. He was depending on her. His life was on the line. She couldn't let him down again._

"_Booth!" She hollered as the broken Suburban came into sight. It'd come to a rest with its front end smashed up against the guardrail. The barrier was the only thing keeping the vehicle from sliding forth into the river. All the windows had broken out in the impact. The shattered pieces shined like glitter in the bit of moonlight filtering in through the low lying clouds. They guided her path straight to the driver's side door where Booth remained in wait._

"_Booth!" She yelled again as she came to a stop besides him. She was frightened to notice how still he was. He was slumped forward with his forehead pressing down upon the steering wheel. His face was disclosed by darkness. Brennan's ability to think straight ceased. Deep down she logically knew better than to follow through on her next actions. But logic had been lost with her sensibility. She threw open the car door, and pushed him back into his seat. She drew in a sharp gasp at the sight. Booth was bathed in his own blood. "No. God, no." _

_She unbuckled his safety belt and ripped it away from him. With all of her might she tugged him into her arms and pulled him out from the burning wreckage. She brought him a safe distance away before collapsing onto her rear in the street and bringing his head and chest close to her body. She cradled him as though he were a newborn baby. "Booth," she whispered to him. "Open your eyes. Please. For me."_

_He was unresponsive, and limp. She struggled to find his pulse, having to check both his wrist and his neck before finding a weak, thready beat. Plain it was to see that he didn't have long left in the world if help didn't arrive soon. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered to him. "Please. Just come back to me. Don't leave." She pressed her lips to his. "Wake up, Booth."_

_Patiently she waited for some sort of sign; anything at all that indicated an effort to try. He gave her no such hope. In every passing moment his heart grew weaker and weaker. When she felt his head roll into her and saw his shoulders stop moving she knew she was too late. He was beyond help._

* * *

><p>Brennan woke shivering in a sweat. Her chest ached with a tightness unlike any she'd ever felt. She glanced down to the bed to find Christine was still sound asleep besides her. Beyond her however, the bed was vacant. The sheets were cool. Booth had disappeared quite some time ago. She threw the covers back and gingerly eased herself up onto wobbly legs. Her body had yet to settle down from the adrenaline rush brought on by her nightmare. She took one more glance at Christine before crossing the room. Booth couldn't have gotten far, and she had a pretty good idea where he'd wandered off to.<p>

Sure enough, she located him sitting just outside their room on the balcony. He was tucked away in the corner, his body folded and his head resting against the wall as he slept. Next to him she bent down on one leg. "Booth." Across his wrist she swept her fingertips.

His eyes cracked open. He was able to give her a full second of attention before he collapsed into himself again. Brennan sighed. "You can't sleep here. You need to return to bed with me. Booth." She tapped his cheek.

He tilted to one side, wavering as though he were drunk instead of asleep. Her patience was running thin. She grabbed his torso just under his armpits and hauled him up onto his feet. "Come on. Back to bed."

She was able to lead him stumbling inside. She set him down atop of the mattress, and pulled the blankets up over his body. "You need to rest here. You can't keep wandering off, Booth."

He grumbled something unrecognizable. With a sigh she sat down on the very edge of the bed. Tenderly she rubbed his back, strumming her fingers over the outline of his ribs as though they were strings on a guitar. The feel of his skin stretched tautly over his frame disturbed her. She made a mental note to mention it to Dr. Ronald. These days she felt as though she had a running laundry list of daily things to report.

It'd been a few weeks since Booth's beach confession. In the time that had passed in between his life had drastically changed. Medical personnel had seized upon him the moment he and Brennan returned to the institute. He was taken for a full physical, as both Dr. Ronald and his therapists wanted to discern that he hadn't harmed himself during his vanishing act. Brennan couldn't stomach the thought of him inflicting further damage to himself. Thankfully nothing had been found.

He'd barely emerged from the exam when Dr. Ronald had abducted him into his office for a meeting that had lasted close to two hours. It was agreed that he would be started on an array of different medicines to deal with his lingering symptoms. In theory it had been a wonderful idea; a needed one. The reality had been far different.

Perhaps Booth did feel better. But if so, it was only because he was constantly in a stupor. Not since the earliest stages of his recovery had Brennan seen him have such an inability to function on his own. He did no more than lay around, napping on and off. No sort of stimuli engaged him. He barely spoke to anyone. Brennan felt like time had been turned back, and he'd gotten caught in the throes of addiction for a second time. After a few days of this behavior she'd brought her concerns to Dr. Ronald.

"I can understand your worries." He'd readily agreed. "I don't want to keep him on these medications permanently. I just want to get him to a place where he's stable enough to appropriately work on his issues."

"But how will he achieve that if his cognitive functioning is suspended? He can't think for himself. This feels like a reversal of the direction we should be taking him in."

"It will take a while for his body to adjust, and for us to find the right balance for him. But it will happen. I council patience please, Dr. Brennan."

She did her best to oblige. They were the experts, after all. But every day she fought a tug of war with her thoughts. Did they see him like she did? Were they seeing his amount of extreme apathy? His difficulty in concentrating on a single thought? Sometimes she wasn't so sure, yet had to remind herself that she was unable to be objectionable. Love clouded her judgment and blinded her. For his sake she had to trust in others.

After a while she crawled down beneath the covers besides him. She took him into his arms and held him as close to her as she could. The sound of his breathing was reassuring, as was the feel of his heart beating against hers. She palmed the muscles his arms, appreciating the steel like solidity of them. These physical attributes reminded her that though damaged he still withheld a great amount of power. That strength had brought him this far, and it would see him through to the end.

Her exploration of his body continued over his shoulders and down to the middle of his back above his waist. He squirmed slightly, and his eyes opened. She lovingly touched his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"Didn't," he slurred.

She was amazed to be receiving a response, and decided to push her luck and try for more. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Can't feel anything."

"Numb?"

"…yes. Nuh-umb."

"Do you like feeling that way?"

So much time passed in between his broken phrases she thought he'd drifted off again. "Sometimes. I don't hurt anymore. But I can't think. I can't remember. I don't remember before." He exhaled. "I don't remember yesterday."

The clarity in which he spoke could have knocked her over with a feather. "What do you remember?" She stammered.

"You. Me. Us. Solving crimes. Remember that life." His eyes closed. "Miss that life."

"I know you do. I do as well."

"I should have died." He suddenly announced out of the blue. "In the accident."

Her entire being froze. "Are you… are you saying you wished you had?"

"No." He insisted quickly. He reached past her to switch on a light. The two untangled so as he could climb to his feet. Buried beneath a stack of clothes in his suitcase he fished out a photograph and brought it back to her. The image was one taken from the scene of the accident. He pointed to the door of his car. "Shouldn't have lived. But did. Grateful. Need to start trying to live up to it."

"You are. You're trying."

"Not like I should." He set the image down onto the nightstand. "Too… nuh-umb to try. I've been too sad. I need to stop. Pills make me feel better but," he gazed straight into her eyes. "I don't like them. I don't like being unable to remember."

She again was blown away by the transformation of his sentences. While much of his vocabulary was still fragmented, he was speaking in fuller sentences than he had since before the accident. He wasn't aware of the difference, but for her the contrast was like night and day. There was improvement. The treatment was working. "I believe you need to stay on them for the short term. But perhaps we can lessen the dose to bring you down to a manageable state. If you'll permit me I will speak to Dr. Ronald on your behalf in the morning."

He nodded. After turning off the light he stretched himself back out besides her. "I was angry," he under toned in the dark. "I'm sorry."

"If you are referring to the night of the accident, you had every right to be. I hurt you, Booth. I'm ashamed of myself. I always will be."

An arm snaked around her waist. He brought her right up against his body. "Forward. Gotta move forward."

"That's right." She kissed his forehead.

"Love you, Bones."

"Love you too, Booth."


	28. Oh Dem Bones

Brennan was in Dr. Ronald's office first thing come morning. For hours the two sat and debated a plan encompassing Booth's health. Neither one of them could compromise over the issue of keeping him bogged down with medications. "You don't understand," Brennan at last snapped. "He is unable to function. I've been through this before with him, only he was inflicting it upon himself. The fact that he spoke to me about it last night, that he confirmed that he doesn't care for the way the medications are making him feel is a strong indicator that they aren't right for him. It's an accomplishment for him to want to turn away from an overabundance chemicals, considering the addiction he once had. I can't overlook that."

"I appreciate where you are coming from, Dr. Brennan. I truly can. But I also have to acknowledge that a few weeks ago he sat here in that same chair and told me he wanted to kill himself. He told me he couldn't manage the depression and anxiety he was feeling. That is an imbalance brought on by the accident. Taking him off his medicines will bring him back to that place. We'll lose the good that's been done."

"I understand. By why can't we just lessen the doses, then? He doesn't need to be kept in a daze, which its clear that he is. I trust in your judgment. I am seeing changes in him I never thought possible. But if you are to continue to work with him he needs to be in a better state of mental awareness."

"Once he gets used to the medications he'll perk up."

She'd shaken her head. "No. It's been a few weeks and there's been no change. He is unable to do little besides sleep. That's why I am here. You must lessen the doses. If he is to get better there's no other choice."

Dr. Ronald had exhaled roughly, signaling his agitation with her. Brennan couldn't have cared less. There was no leaving his office until a bargain was worked out. She wouldn't let Booth down again.

"Fine. I'll alter the milligrams and we'll take it from there."

Plans were set in place immediately. That morning when Booth received his medication he didn't collapse back into bed, only to sleep for hours on end. He remained awake, visiting with Brennan and using his vocabulary as best as he could. The family spent the afternoon talking a walk around town. They even stopped for ice cream. All in all it was a vast improvement.

She hadn't known what to think when she'd woken the next morning to an empty room. As usual with her heart in her throat she galloped through the hallways until she was outside spilled onto the beach. But instead of laying on the shore Booth was back in the ocean. He swam against the waves, his head disappearing under a few before popping back up onto the surface. She'd folded her arms around herself and smiled. Watching him in such a moment of unnoticeable glory was a joy.

The only trouble was, being constantly submerged in water had taken its toll on the plaster cast covering his wrist. Later on that morning they waited in an exam room while another doctor cut off the remainder of what hadn't disintegrated away. As soon as the debris was lifted Booth was wincing. Brennan frowned worriedly. "Does it still hurt, Booth?"

He nodded at her. The doctor took that as his cue to move in. "Can you wiggle your fingers for me?"

Booth was hardly capable of the task. The doctor rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "That should be healed by now. Odd. Well, I'm just going to put an air cast on it. It's removable. That way it won't get destroyed while you're swimming. That's an excellent resource, by the way. Very smart."

In pride did Booth sit up a little taller. Brennan wasn't as easily pacified. "I want to know what is impairing his bones from mending. This has been an ongoing struggle. Neither his wrist nor his ribs are healing correctly. There must be a reason why."

The doctor glanced over Booth's file on his laptop. "It's been noted but nothing specific has been found. Let me take a few samples and have them run. They may not turn up anything. But it's a start."

For now she'd accept it. But a mere start it was. She'd push the issue until she'd receive answers; until someone explained the cause for his condition. She wouldn't stop until he was completely alleviated of his pain.

Without the medication hindering his performance Booth improved by light years over the course of the next few weeks. He'd hit a stride and there was no turning back. Slowly but surely the slurring accent he spoke with disappeared. More complex words were suddenly back within his vocabulary. His responses to her weren't nearly so timed, and the difficulty in which he'd had in selecting a word was decreasing.

In addition, memories in which he had forgotten were back. The personal quirks which had made him who he was made their own silent return without any acknowledgement on his part. It was as if he'd never known that they were gone. The man that had been laying dormant beneath the wreckage of the crash was finding his way out.

"I believe he'll be ready to return home in a few more weeks," Brennan told Angela excitedly over the phone one afternoon. "The amount of progress he's made is astounding."

"That's wonderful, sweetie. You both deserve it."

Later on that evening Booth was out on the balcony long after Christine had fallen into a deep sleep. Brennan slid open the sliding glass door, making a split second decision to join him. "Enjoying the night?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I like the air. It makes me feel better." He furrowed his brow at her. "I don't know why."

She sat down besides him. "You seem to be drawn to water. Perhaps its the sounds and the smells that are soothing to your nerves, but in your addled brain are being misinterpreted and as a result you feel a physical relief."

He half smiled. "That sounds…" He paused, trying find the right word he wanted to say. As he couldn't locate it, he substituted just as he'd been taught. "Mental, coming from you."

She too, grinned. "You remember that now, huh?"

"Mmhmm. I remember more." He looked to her. She was taken in by his eyes. When he crossed the space between them to kiss her, she was thrilled.

"Sex." He blurted out of the blue.

"What about it?"

"I like it."

She couldn't keep herself from chuckling. "Would you like it now?"

"Here?" He worriedly glanced over the railing.

"Booth, it's late. There's no one on the beach. No one could possibly see us." She assured him. "If you'd rather not, that's fine. I just know the appetite for sex you had at one time and-"

He silenced her with another lip lock, this one much more heated with passion.

The two tugged at one another's clothes as if they were love struck teenagers losing their virginity. He had her completely undressed in the blink of an eye. His mouth traveled over the length of her body, paying attention to certain pleasure areas more so than others. When at last he entered her she gently tugged at the skin on his back with her fingernails. He gave her one more lingering kiss before finding the right rhythm with his hips. Gratification came soon thereafter.

They laid together underneath the light of the full moon. While Booth nodded off instantly Brennan remained awake, lost in her own ponderings. She tenderly touched Booth's face. _You are an amazing man, _she spoke to him without ever saying a word.

* * *

><p>Though she shouldn't have been she was surprised when she woke up alone in the morning. Booth had carried her from the balcony to their bed, and covered her with blankets and sheets. She determined that he had gone for his usual morning swim. His days seemed to be the best when started off that way. And so she showered and dressed, and then woke Christine. The two trekked down to the cafeteria to see about breakfast.<p>

She took her time consuming a meal of oatmeal and toast. Likely as soon as Booth returned from his swim he'd begin his usual routine for the day. The zest he had now for his treatments made him eager to get to work. She knew that he too, hoped he could go home soon. That was his real motivator. She couldn't blame him.

Her second shock of the morning came upon returning to their room. The door had been left slightly ajar. She paused before going in. Only the two of them had room keys, beyond the staff. Why would the staff enter their room without permission? A troubling thought occurred to her. What if it hadn't been staff at all? Had another patient broken into their room?

Hesitantly she proceeded forward, holding Christine in such a way to guarantee her protection. "Hello?" She questioned the silence. "Anyone here?"

On the floor in front of their bed were several items, among them a soggy towel and the room key. "Booth." She murmured. Had he simply forgotten to close the door? Why? And what was his reasoning for abandoning his possessions on the floor? The carelessness was out of character for him. "Booth?" She tried a little louder.

For the first time she noticed the open balcony door. Just outside of it she was sure she could see a shoe. This situation was becoming more and more peculiar. She laid Christine down in a portable play pen. Then she saw her curiosity through. She strode out onto the balcony. "Booth? What are you doing? Why aren't you with your therapists?"

He was laying uncomfortably across the floor on his side. As she drew closer to him she could see how pale his features were. His eyes were dull and unfocused. Too quickly did he pant out shallow breaths. His forearm was marred with traces of blood, and a few scratches marked his chin.

"Booth?" She knelt down besides him. "What happened? You look… awful. Wouldn't you be more comfortable inside in bed? Lets move you." She'd no more put a hand on his chest before he was recoiling away from her. The sound of pain he made was unlike anything she'd ever heard. His labored breathing worsened.

Alarmed tears struck up in her eyes. "Booth, what happened? What's wrong? Talk to me." She pleaded. She examined every inch of him closely. He still wore his swim trunks. Sneakers with little tread were on his feet. While staring at them the realization hit her like an anvil. "You fell, and when you went down you fell face first. You must have injured your chest. You could have told me this, Booth. There's no reason to be embarrassed." She tried telling him. However, the longer she watched his mannerisms the more she began to understand the truth. "You couldn't tell me… because you're going into shock."

His eyes shut. _Finally._

"Hold on. I'll go get help." She ran from the room as though her life depended on it. In all reality she knew it was really his depending on her. She'd carry them through.


	29. All Right For Now

Brennan was having difficulty in controlling her irritability. She'd been sitting in the waiting room in the hospital for hours and had yet to receive any information about Booth. He'd barely been prepared in their room inside the institute before paramedics were transporting him out. Regretfully she'd had to leave Christine with caretakers in order to follow. While idling her time she'd made at least three calls to check on her daughter. She had to imagine the staff was becoming fairly annoyed with her. Then again, whatever accident he'd suffered had been in their facility. So far as she was concerned they owed babysitting services to her, and a lot more.

Just as early evening was setting in did a doctor finally arrive. His first order of business was to introduce himself as Dr. Miller, and then apologize for the delay of informing her of his condition. "We had some difficulty in obtaining information from him."

She just nodded. "He was in a car accident some time ago, and suffered a severe head injury. He's undergone much improvement since then, but his speech is still iffy at times." She'd never thought about it, as for the most part she'd always been able to comprehend what he was telling her. But she supposed for others it may not have been that clear.

"I read about that in his record. He did well, considering. As I'm sure you know he was in the early stages of shock when he was brought in. Once the symptoms were treated and we were able to stabilize him did he tell us what happened. Apparently as he was returning from his morning swim his wet shoes slipped as he was hurrying upstairs. He fell forward, and his mind was slow to trigger a reflex. So by the time he reacted enough to put his hands out to brace himself he'd already had a collision. Both his sixth and seventh ribs were broken."

"Those are the same two he broke in the car accident. Dr. Miller, this has been a continuing problem. His former broken bones aren't healing properly. They're brittle. No one has been able to give me an answer as to why." She wanted to cry in aggravation. Booth didn't deserve to struggle with the pain. He'd put in his battle. He was due a respite.

"Well, I conferred with both his doctors at the institute and with Dr. Mullins. We've all come to an agreement that surgery is the last option for him. After that we can plow deeper into the reasons for his failure to mend."

She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed mournfully. "Surgery. I presume you'll be inserting pins into his rib bones, then?"

"That's the plan. His surgery is scheduled for first thing in the morning."

"Does he know? Did you tell him?"

"We did…" Dr. Miller hesitated. "But he was rather intoxicated by painkillers. Given that and the trauma he's been through today I'm not entirely sure he understood."

_Of course. _Her disapproval grew. "I'd like to see him, please."

"Right this way."

Booth was laying down flat in his bed when Brennan was let into his room. Before she'd completely reached his side his physical ailments called out to her. His eyes were closed. His skin had taken on the texture of wax paper and was grayish in color. Though his breathing was even he was just too still. Despite the fact that the damage wasn't nearly as extreme she was reminded of the first time she saw him after the accident. He wore the same look he'd had about him then. "Booth?" She laid her hand down over the fingers poking out of his cast.

His eyes opened after a long moment. The film over them indicated to her that her words would be wasted. The painkillers had taken him into another realm where pain couldn't touch him. She was sure consideration of his previous addiction had been forgone in an effort to alleviate his pain. She couldn't blame anyone, even if it did increase her worry over what was to come. Should they arrive at that bridge again it would be crossed one way or another. In the meantime, she had to do her best to make him grasp his situation. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

"Sore. I hurt bad. Or I did." He grinned gleefully. "Feels good now."

She half heartedly smiled. "You're undergoing surgery in the morning. They're going to open your chest and insert pins into your broken ribs. Do you understand?"

His eyes averted away from her. "Push back my treatment?" He wondered.

"Your physical disabilities, yes. But I can't see why your doctors would have to stop working on your cognitive abilities. In recovery you're going to need to rest a lot, and we are going to have to really be cautious in allowing you to engage in any activity. But," she quit while she was ahead. He'd stopped listening after the first few sentences. His ability to speak had improved, as had many other issues that had been plaguing him. But there was still much that needed to be worked on, including his attention span. "Do you understand, Booth?" She tried again.

"Yea." He frowned. "Will I get sick again?"

She had trouble conjuring what he was speaking of. At last she realized he meant when he'd contracted meningitis shortly after the accident. "No. And we'll see to it that nothing happens to you."

Reassured, he nodded. "Kay," his tone was more childlike than that of a full grown man.

"I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You've come a long way. And while this is a setback its far from an ending. We won't quit until you are healed, in both body and mind. We'll get there." She squeezed a few of his fingers affectionately. "I still will never be able to sum up enough words to fully relay how sorry I am that this happened to you. That I did this to you-"

"Stop." He lamely held up his opposite hand. "Time to leave the past in the past. It's done. We need to look forward now. No more… apol… apolog…" He struggled with the word. Finally with a sigh and a deadened gaze he settled with, "saying sorry."

She'd never stop feeling regret. But she was willing to adhere to his terms. "Okay."

"Good. Kiss me. Can't reach you."

At last she let out a soft chuckle of laughter. She leaned over the side of his bed and pressed her lips against his. "I love you."

"I know." He smiled.

* * *

><p>In the morning Booth was taken into surgery first thing. Since Brennan hadn't been permitted to spend the night with him she'd gone back to the institute to sleep in their room with their daughter. Unfortunately by the time she made it back to the hospital he'd already been transported from his room. She'd missed her opportunity to see him. Dejectedly she headed down into the OR waiting room to fulfill the routine she was becoming used to.<p>

Hours passed. Brennan did anything and everything she could think of to occupy her mind. She consumed so much coffee that she was uncharacteristically jumpy. Her heart raced from both her anxiousness over Booth and the amount of caffeine she'd poured into it. She foolishly found herself wishing she had some sort of remote control device that held power over life. If such a thing existed, she would have preferred to fast forward to the future, when all of this was safely behind them. The thought made her laugh, and after receiving looks of irritation from the families of other patients she knew she needed to sit down, and calm down.

Luckily, the giddiness didn't last long. By the time Booth's surgeon beckoned for her she'd fallen onto the other end of the spectrum. She felt depressed, and so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She sluggishly moved across the carpeting to where he stood. "How is he?"

"For the most part he came through the surgery with flying colors."

Her head pounded. She raised the butt of her hand to her forehead. "Colors don't fly." She paused. "What do you mean, "for the most part?"

"The surgery itself went fine. But when we went in we did discover some damage to the tissue lining his lungs. We did what we repair we could, but as a result he's having some difficulty with his breathing. We would have had him on respirator following a surgery like this anyway. He's going to be just all right."

She wanted to question the doctor's methods and assurances but was too tired to think for herself. "Is he ready for visitors?"

"He's in Recovery right now. I can bring you in for a second to say hello."

"Yes. Do that."

"It has to be fast, though. When he's in a regular room you are welcome to stay with him as long as you like."

She sniffed in disdain. _Just let me see him, _she thought. _You've done enough. _Then, sorrowfully, _I've done enough to him._

Booth was still sound asleep in bed. He was cocooned in several blankets. Beneath his hospital gown she could just make out the outline of bandages taped against his chest. A tube had been inserted through his mouth down into his throat. Another tube had been plugged in through his nostrils. He breathed in a volume stronger than she would have expected, given his surgeon's summary of events.

She leaned over him. "Booth?"

The pulse monitor keeping track of his heartbeats skipped a beep. His eyes opened partly. Though he could do no more than stare there was enough evident emotion in his eyes that she knew he was happy to see her.

"You're going to be all right."

His eyes closed again. His hand weakly searched the area besides him in the bed until he located hers. Then he gave her fingers a tender, loving squeeze.

Yes, he'd be all right.


	30. So Close But So Far

**A Few Months Later**

A paper target with the darkened silhouette of a man fluttered haplessly in the light wind. Two thick, heavy chains kept it secured to a metal bar mounted overhead. Except for the occasional bird singing its song, all was silent. Calm as stilled waters. There was a single moment of clarity before all hell broke loose. The sound of multiple shots broke the tension in the air. Bam! Bam! Bam! One by one they echoed off the mountains in the distance. When the earth quieted again a man stepped forward to survey what he'd done.

Bullet holes marked different areas of the target. A few had sunk into the section in which he'd been aiming for. But a majority of them _hadn't. _Booth winced, scowling and sighing a sigh of complete frustration. He looked down helplessly at his hands. _Numbness caused by brain damage, _his doctors had said.

"Wow." The man by his side commented. "Every day I learn something new about you. Today I learn you're really a homicidal manic in disguise."

In the time that had passed since Booth had undergone the surgery to repair his ribs he'd flourished beautifully. Unfortunately, his recovery time had taken a lot longer than both his doctors and Brennan had expected. For a month and a half he'd been confined to a bed spending his day to day life in pain that was barely manageable. Medications had been given to speed along the healing process, but had done little in actually assisting him. The depression he'd fallen back into was crippling. Even having Christine and Brennan by his side wasn't enough to snap him out of his funk. Life appeared bleak.

Then late one night he'd made a decision; a promise to himself. Either he could lay around feeling sorry for himself, or he could utilize the time and get productive. The following morning he'd requested a cognitive therapist to work with him. Every weekday Simon had visited him at the appointed hour. Together they'd worked until any hint of a lisp that had remained was gone. His vocabulary had grown by leaps and bounds, and though he still sometimes struggled for the right word, overall he noticed his own improvement. Brennan had been so impressed she'd hired the man on as their assistant while they remained in California.

When Simon wasn't around Booth had took it upon himself to begin reading again. He'd started with children's books and rapidly worked his way up the comprehension chart. Soon he was reading anything he could get his hands on (with the exception of Brennan's anthropology books - not that she didn't try). Those bits of self motivation had made all the difference in the world. Booth was back.

Mostly. He whirled around and sneered at Simon. Sheepishly his friend put up his hands. "Hey, at least you hit it. I wouldn't have been able to do that."

Given that his friend had more of an affection for fashion than guns, Booth didn't doubt it. "You've probably never even held a gun."

"Guilty." He beamed. "Are you finished? We should really head back before Dr. Brennan notices we're gone. You're going to get caught eventually, you know."

Booth did know. He took one last look at the target before packing up his gear. Like clockwork every day Brennan laid down with Christine for a nap at the same time. Those small windows of opportunity were ones he took advantage of. One afternoon during his free time he'd taken it upon himself to get on the internet. It hadn't taken him long to look up a shooting range nearby. Immediately after he'd coaxed Simon into his plans (mostly because he needed a driver) and swore him to secrecy. Since he easily outweighed Simon the man was intimidated into doing as he wished. Daily now the two trekked out to go shooting while Brennan slept on, none the wiser.

They retreated to Simon's car out in the parking lot. Booth mutely held his hand open for the keys. Simon sighed, muttered words he had no intention of allowing Booth to hear, and handed them over. In addition to all his other skills Booth was teaching himself how to drive again. He suffered a few mishaps, mostly involving curbs and stop signs, but otherwise was becoming confident in his abilities. The only downside had been the nightmares that had been triggered again once he'd started practicing behind the wheel. There had been more than one that'd had him reaching out gasping for Brennan in the middle of the night, and shaking like a leaf in her arms until she'd been able to get him to settle. He'd never confided in her, but thought she still somehow was aware of just what was getting to him so.

He was careful in looking both ways as he pulled out onto the main strip. Simon wiggled back into his seat. He may have acted like he casually but Booth knew he had hawk eyes. "So we're doing this again tomorrow?"

"As long as Bones is sleeping." The car changed lanes.

"Huh. I gotta be honest with you. I don't get it. I understand wanting to learn to drive again. But why on earth do you want to learn to shoot?"

"I'm not learning to shoot. I'm relearning." And he'd had to start back at the beginning. The brain damage had affected his aim in more ways than one. Even with his best concentration he was barely able to pull off the shot to make his mark. It unreasonably irritated him, but he was determined.

"Okay. Fine. But, why?"

There'd been a slight amendment to the promise he'd made to himself while immobilized. He'd yet to admit it to anyone. He'd hardly been able to bring himself to believe it. "I want to work for the FBI again. I want to be an agent."

Simon's jaw dropped. "You're… you're joking, right?"

"No." He scoffed. "Why not?"

"Why not? I can think of thousands of reasons. You have brain damage. That'd be a huge one right there."

"So what? I can do almost everything I did before the accident."

"Everything you u_sed _to. You're doing well. But Dr. Brennan says you're still not the guy you were. I'm sorry, Booth. I just think you need to be realistic."

"I am." He refused to let his brain damage be a hindrance. "I'm not counting on it. But I would hate myself if I didn't at least try. I need to contrib… contrib…" His mouth refused to form the word. "Give back to my family."

"Contribute." Simon coached him through. "But I don't understand why. Dr. Brennan says she's financially stable enough to support the both of you for the rest of your lives."

"It's important because I'm a man-"

Simon laughed. "Whoa ho. And she'd murder you if she heard you say that."

It was the truth. "It's just important to me, all right? And it's equally important to me to try and be as close to the man that I once was. Including working for the bureau."

"I can understand that." He relented. "But your body still isn't healing properly. That's going to be a gigantic waving flag in your face."

Throughout all the surgery, therapy, and needless torture Booth had been through his body just refused to mend properly. His ribs were stronger than they had been since the accident with pins holding them together. But they still weren't unionizing as they were supposed to. Test after test had been performed on him only to arrive without a single answer. He was due for most testing that afternoon. His doctors were stumped.

"I didn't say I was going to try for it tomorrow," he grumbled back.

"I know. I'm just saying you gotta be careful. I think you think you're stronger than you really are. But you will be again. In time. We just don't need to hasten that along if its going to complicate your health. Sweet little Christine doesn't need to lose her father, and I doubt I'm Dr. Brennan's type. Lord knows she isn't mine."

Booth couldn't keep himself from cracking a grin.

Brennan and Christine were awake when the odd couple traipsed into their room. After being released from the hospital the family had come back to live in their room inside the institute. Enough progress had been made that once his health problems were resolved they would at last be permitted to leave. Booth was practically counting down the days.

"Where were you two?" Brennan inquired suspiciously. She may have addressed them both but her eyes lingered on Booth's alone.

"We went for a walk." His lie came easily. His back pocket held a folded piece of paper in which he jotted down every cover story he could orchestrate. "It's nice out."

Her gaze turned back to Simon. He jeered. "Oh no. I like drama, but I am not getting paid nearly enough to be roped into marital drama." In a goodbye gestured he wiggled his fingers. "Toodles."

"We're not married," Brennan reminded him on his way out. She shut the door behind him and switched her focus back to Booth. He tilted his head, and gave her his best charming smile. "What, Bones?"

"Have you forgotten that you have an appointment for an x-ray in twenty minutes?"

"No." He sauntered past her. "I'm back in time, aren't I? I don't see the point in this, anyway. They won't find anything. They never do." He peeled his shirt off over his shoulders, exchanging it for a clean one.

"The point is to find out why you are still in pain, and why you aren't-"

"I know." He cut her off with a kiss. "But I'm getting tired of being treated like a lab rat when they can't figure out what's wrong with me. I want an answer, Bones. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of all of it."

"I know. Our answers haven't been forthcoming but we will find a way to help you. If it means leaving here for another center of care we will. We'll do whatever it takes."

He wanted to go home so bad he could taste it. The idea of doing no more than changing scenery was disheartening for him. Abruptly he separated himself from her. "Lets just go get this over with." He grunted.

She wasn't prepared for his mood swing. And as he marched by her on his way out the door she couldn't help wondering what emotions were taking place under his cool exterior. Just what was going on with him?


	31. It's Not Over

Booth said little to her throughout the remainder of the day. He attended his appointment and emerged from the imaging room with a chip on his shoulder. His brow was permanently lowered. Out of his way he went not to so much as glance in her direction. She was dumbfounded. What had she done that had been out of line? Chided him for disappearing? Attempted to be supportive in his frustration over his inflicted ailments? There was no rhyme or reason, no solution as to why it'd taken pins and rods to perform a function his bones should have done on their own. He wasn't old by any means. Osteoporosis had never been a concern, and had been ruled out early on in their probe. Why couldn't anyone pin point what was happening inside of his body that was all but destroying itself?

"Are you all right?" She dared to ask him as they headed back to their room. There was no mistaking the slight limp he'd developed in his step since having the x-rays performed.

He was silent. She stopped him from continuing forward, taking a gentle hold of his good wrist. "Please, Booth. What's the matter? Why are you angry at me?"

"I want to go home." He seethed. "I don't want to keep doing this. I'm better. Why can't I just leave?"

"Because you aren't better. We need to investigate why it is you're not mending."

"What does it matter anymore?" He was quick to volley back. "I got pins and needles in me."

"Rods." She corrected. "Rods, Booth. Needles would be rather painful."

"Whatever. The point is there's nothing more than can be done for me. I want to go home. I want my life to go back to normal. I want to work for-" He cut himself off. Two steps were taken away from her. His eyes widened in alarm. The cat was out of the bag.

"The bureau?" She supplied for him. "No. I'm sorry but it's highly unlikely you'll ever be an agent again. The damage the accident caused your body will prevent you. You've come a long way. A great deal further than I think your doctors anticipated. But I don't think you'll be in a state in which you'll be functional in the field, even with a partner. I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed in anger. "You don't want me to."

"You are absolutely correct. No. I don't want you to. I don't want to have to witness something happening to you; something that I could have prevented. I already did that once. That's what got us into this mess." She paused to think for a moment. "That's where you've been going every day when Christine and I lie down for a nap, isn't it? You've been going to the range. You've been trying to teach yourself to shoot again." She thought she'd smelled gunpowder on a few times, but had chalked it up to being ludicrous. She never would have entertained the thought of him venturing out to handle a weapon again seriously. "And you've obviously dragged Simon into it."

He shook his head angrily and strode by her. She whirled around, hot on his heels. "I'm sorry that that isn't what you want to hear. But it's the truth. You're still too damaged-"

"I'm not damaged!" He exploded. Doctors and nurses milling in the lobby all turned to the couple with curious stares. Immune he was to onlookers. He continued on as though it were only the two of them. And now he'd set his sights on wounding her. "You did this to me. If anyone should want more for me, it should be you!"

The jarring words had an opposite effect. She grew to be just as angry. "I've taken the blame all this time, Booth. I know what I said was wrong. I know what I did was wrong. But you made the conscious decision to get behind the wheel when you were enraged. I had nothing to do with that. You didn't have to go for a drive. You could have gone for a walk. You could have, and likely should have, stayed in the apartment and fought with me. You even could have locked yourself in the bedroom! So yes, I was in the wrong. But I had nothing to do with the decision that _you _made that night! If you want to place the blame anywhere then blame yourself!"

Booth continued to level her with a cold stare. At first she didn't think he'd heard a word she'd said, until abruptly he turned himself away and jogged upstairs. With a sigh she followed after him. Whether or not she was correct in departing her true thoughts was debatable. The conclusion was one she'd come to a long time ago while he'd been in the hospital after his surgery. He was responsible for his own actions, just as she was responsible for his own. Pointing the finger at one another wasn't an absolution to his health problems. That was the reason for keeping her thoughts to herself.

Instead of joining him in the room she went to claim Christine from the daycare. She retrieved their buggy and spent a few hours walking the two of them around the grounds out by the ocean. By the time she returned Booth had settled himself down on the balcony. She didn't bother him, or offer to order him any food when she called for room service. Until he calmed down he was left to fend for himself.

For hours he remained on the balcony. It wasn't until she was settling in for bed that he joined her. Still he wouldn't speak a word, but instead just crawl into bed and lay his conflicted mind down on his pillow. His back was turned towards her. And that was just fine. She was still miffed at him.

In spite of her anger she slept peacefully. Or she did, until she woke suddenly in the early morning hours with a chill. She sat up slowly. Christine was still sound asleep curled up besides her. Booth however, was nowhere to be seen. The door to the balcony was open. She ensured that Christine would be safe before she marched outside to give him a piece of her mind. Didn't he understand what a chill could do to their infant? The irritated words were already being spoken before she'd even stepped outside. "Booth, what are you thinking? It's far too cold, and you have no business leaving this door open. I-" A glimpse at him trapped the words inside her throat.

Booth was burning up with fever. Slippery perspiration coated his forehead, neck, and arms. His hair was soaked with it. He was pale, and clutching himself tightly. His head turned to look in her direction. But it was plain to see by the glaze over his eyes that he wasn't really seeing her.

_He came out here trying to cool down. _She got down on one knee in front of him. "Booth? What's the matter? Are you feeling ill?"

A shudder ran through him. He let out a low moan of pure agony. His eyes winced shut. Brennan felt her heart beat that much harder. "Are you in pain?" She asked him gently.

He managed a tight nod.

"Did you do something to yourself? Did you fall? Did you take something?" _Could this possibly be some kind of medicinal allergic reaction?_

He shook his head no to each of her inquiries. "Woke up… like this." He grunted through a tightened throat.

She frowned. "I'm going to have to get you help, okay? I think you need to go back to the hospital."

"No." He groaned.

"Yes. You're burning up, and you can't manage this kind of pain." It made no sense, but for some reason she felt as though his sudden symptoms were related to his non unionizing bones. She didn't trust her gut, however. So she tried to put the thought out of her mind. Stubbornly it lingered.

The next hour was a circus parade of nurses, doctors, and ultimately, paramedics. Booth was transported to the hospital with Brennan along for the ride. She took her post in the waiting room until a doctor came to see her a few hours later. He barely introduced himself before launching into the spiel she knew well by now. His fever was too high. His pain was off the charts. The rods and pins were mending his bones, but not well. He became resistant anytime anyone tried to touch his midsection to address his problems. "We're keeping him."

"I figured as much." She sighed. "I know this seems ridiculous, but I have to ask. Could this sudden onset of unrelated symptoms somehow actually be related to his bones not mending properly? Could this be some sort of disease or virus that's been lying dormant until now?"

He didn't give her the look of disbelief she'd been expecting. "It's a theory," he agreed slowly. "Certainly worth looking into."

She was brought into his room where he was resting, though it was anything but comfortably. His face was broken out into red blotches. He was still sweating excessively, and fidgeting because he couldn't find a position that lessened his pain. She laid her fingers across the back of his hand. "Booth, have they given you anything for this?"

He nodded.

She was appalled. "And you're still in this amount of pain? How long ago did they give it to you?"

"Few hours." He breathed. "I don't want to die."

She reeled back in shock. "What? Where on earth are you getting that from?" It was easy to discern that he was falling delirious. But she still found it as a shocking thing to say.

"Sick. So much pain." He sighed. "So sudden."

"I know. But we're going to find out what's wrong with you. We'll cure you of this; of everything. We're going to get down to the bottom of it. Just hold on." She smoothed her hand across his forehead, ignoring how terribly he shivered. "We'll find the answer."


	32. Forgiveness

As the daylight hours arose Booth was separated from Brennan and undergo numerous rounds of testing. The doctor assigned to his case had marched into his room first thing with a sense of purpose. The pouched darkened circles beneath his eyes suggested to her that he'd been up for hours pouring over Booth's case. "I'd like to do some bones scans on him."

Booth hadn't shown any interest. His medications had never really completely obliterated his pain. As a result he'd been unable to achieve anything other than a light sleep. He was utterly miserable and could focus on nothing greater than the ailment he'd been stricken with. Therefore it was up to Brennan to nod compliance. "Do whatever it is you feel you need to do."

For hours she was left to idle. The delay gave her opportunity to tend to Christine. The child had once again been left to be cared for by the staff back at the institute. Brennan was unhappy with the arrangement but knew her options were few. A hospital was no place for a baby.

By the time she had returned Booth was back in his room. If she had expected an improvement she sadly was let down. If nothing else, he appeared worse than he had that morning. Constantly he was repositioning himself in bed, trying to find a sweet spot that would lessen his suffering. His eyes were glazed over. And for the first time she noticed how he kept his right arm tucked protectively over his rib cage. Without giving him warning she attempted to press her hand in the area he left exposed. Her palm had no more flattened against his skin before he was rearing out away from her. "Don't." He commanded.

"Does that hurt a lot, Booth?" She was sure she'd felt heat rising from the area. "Does it burn?"

He nodded once, leaving her to wonder which question he was replying to. Before she could inquire more in depth his doctor appeared. "Osteomyelitis." He announced, matter of fact like. "Both the scans and a blood sample confirmed it."

_Bone infection. Of course. _She glanced back at him. The puzzle pieces fell into place. Suddenly all of it made sense. "What is your course of action?"

"I'm ordering a strong push of antibiotics. If we can't get him to respond then we may have to open him back up and go back inside. I'd like to save that as a last ditch attempt. He'd been under the knife enough lately to last a lifetime. But it is a route of treatment we may have to consider."

She vehemently agreed. She was watching him as she asked, "that's the reason why his bones won't unionize."

"Currently, yes. As for his past issues I'm still a bit in the dark about that. I know his injuries from the crash were significant."

"He about died." She grasped his hand. "And he's never completely been the same since. He's doing his best to rehabilitate himself into the man he once was. But the residual damage from his brain injury doesn't allow him to do all the things he once did. As a result he gets frustrated easily. He can be very irritable, which masks other conditions." For some reason she found no remorse in letting down her guard in front of the doctor. "We got into a fight earlier today. Perhaps if we hadn't I would have realized sooner that he was coming down with something."

The doctor nodded. His words were kind. "That's life, Dr. Brennan. We all have moments we regret. But he's in good hands now. We'll get him back on track. I'll get those antibiotics started immediately."

Booth's eyes were closing. Whether or not he understood them was arguable. Still he stared at her with such love shining in his eyes, she felt as though her heart were being crushed into a thousand broken shards. "I don't necessarily care if he ever becomes the man he was before the accident. I just want him to be healthy. I want to be able to take him home. I want to see him happy again. And I want him to find the confidence he's lost."

"We'll see what we can do. One step at a time."

She waited until the two had been alone for a period of time before she stood. Lovingly she pressed her lips against his forehead that was still abnormally warm. "That's all I want for you, Booth." She under toned to him. "I just want you to be healthy and completely free of pain. I want you to find the happiness you once did in every day life. I want you to find strength and inner peace. And I want your forgiveness for ever allowing any of this to happen to you. I know it isn't completely my fault, nor is it yours. I know we've said things to one another in anger. But I want to leave that all in the past. The only thing that really matters to me is you."

He failed to respond to her lovely, heartfelt speech. But she did feel his fingers twitch against the back of her palm. He heard her. And he was ready to fight.

* * *

><p>Not that he didn't have his work cut out for him. Even with medication his body temperature stubbornly refused to lower. He lay too weak to move for days on end. Brennan could do no more other than watch over him. During a period of every day she made of point of bringing Christine to visit. With his eyes half open he'd manage to smile sleepily at her. It was the most action he could summon, and she could more than appreciate it.<p>

"Surgery is looking more and more like a possibility." His doctor declared one afternoon after another examination. "I know that isn't what you want to hear."

"It isn't, but we must do what's necessary." What she really was wondering and wouldn't permit herself ask was whether or not he'd survive the procedure.

The doctor paused to think. "We'll give it one more day, okay? If he doesn't improve then we'll discuss the option further."

That day progressed just as every other. That night as Brennan was preparing to leave to return to the institute, she couldn't help speaking to him while he slept. "I don't want surgery for you, Booth. I can't believe at this point you would want it either. I know you're fighting. But we need more from you. Whatever you can give, please just do so. Just be you. Find that strength."

That night while lying in bed she cradled Christine and emitted silent tears of grief and disappointment. Why was life torturing them so? This should have been one of most thrilling times of their lives. Instead of worrying about disease and surgery they should have been more concerned about bonding with their child. As it was she worried that in the very near future she was due to be a single parent. It was single handedly her greatest fear. But she was at a loss as to how to beat his invisible illness. Helplessness had never been an emotion she'd worn well.

Before she drove to the hospital the following morning she steeled herself in preparation for the day. There would be no improvement. Booth would be condemned to the surgery she dreaded so. He'd be set back even further in his recovery. The future was hopeless. Every day since the accident was a test, and the two were sorrowfully failing. Booth would never be considered "well" again.

And so it was to her surprise when she entered his room to find him sitting up in bed eating a Jello cup. His arm shook with strain as he raised his spoon up towards his mouth. He slurped the jiggling blob down his throat. He must have felt her gaping stare burning a hole into him, because he tilted his head in her direction and smiled. His eyes were the clearest she'd seen in some time.

"Booth?" She stammered. The color had returned to his features. The sweat on his brow had evaporated.

That smile widened into a grin. "I think I'm ready now."


	33. Pursuing The Future

Over the past few years circumstances had changed so many aspects of Booth. The damage had altered him in numerous unpredictable ways. But at the core he was still the same man he'd always been. No more than a week of recuperating was permitted before his impatience got the best of him. His face was tilted towards the window bathing in the sun when Brennan came to visit one morning. She smiled at his contented expression. Her lips met his in a simple, chaste kiss. "Good morning."

His eyes shined warmly at her. Welcoming. It was more emotion than she'd seen out of him since he'd declared himself ready to fight. She lowered herself into a chair at his bedside. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Trouble brewed. His gaze averted away from hers. He was hiding. She sat forward in her chair, intrigued. "Booth? Are you in pain?"

Without looking at her, he nodded. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he quickly amended.

"Do you want me to call your doctor?"

"No." Finally he turned his head back around. His demand startled her, though in retrospect she supposed she should have been prepared. "I want to go home."

"From what I understand Dr. Smith plans to release you back to the institute soon."

He was already shaking his head. Earnestly he told her, "I want to go _home _home, Bones. I don't want to go anywhere but back to D.C. I want you and Christine. I want our home. And I want you to go back to having a normal life."

She chuckled at the irony. "Life won't ever be normal for any of us ever again. It would be foolish to ever believe otherwise." When his expression saddened she grasped his hand. "Booth, my only concern outside of Christine is seeing that you get the help you need. You know that. We need to stay until we uncover the reason why your ribs won't heal as they should."

That melancholy expression transitioned quickly into anger. Impatience ran neck and neck with his abrupt mood swings. "We're never going to find the reason. I've been like this for months. I don't want to waste my time with any of it any more. I'm too tired. It's done."

She certainly could sympathize, but she also felt that she needed to maintain the upper hand. His life could never truly move forward again until the last of his issues were resolved. "I know you're frustrated. I am, as well."

"Really? Because I don't think you have any idea how I feel. I fight to move forward, and I just keep getting pushed back again!"

"That's not true. Look how far you've come. Your determination has carried you much further than anyone ever predicted."

"It's not enough. It's never enough! This isn't what I want!" He'd begun to pant heavily. "I should have been killed in the accident! Some days I still wish I had."

He might as well have plunged a knife in her gut. His outburst was unexpected, and therefore she was unprepared. No longer could she face him. "What _do _you want then, Booth?" Her voice was as cold as ice.

"Home. I want to go home."

"So ideally, you'd just like to give up? To forget all your hard work? All the good you've done?"

"…if that's the way you wanna look at it, then yeah. I do. I don't care anymore. I just want to go back to D.C. If that's giving up, then fine."

There was once a time in recent history in which she would have conceded to his desire. But that time had long since passed. She was a steel wall, and no amount of pushing would topple her over. "You aren't a coward, Booth. And I refuse to let you lose sight of that now. Above all your health is of utmost importance to me. Your bones aren't healing, and there's a reason-"

"Yeah. And it's called osteo… myo…is. Or something."

"Osteomyelitis. An infection of the bone." She translated for him. "But I believe there is an underlying cause for it. There must be a reason you contracted the infection. Your continuous pain is clear indication that all is not well. More testing needs to be done. I should have pushed for more from the very beginning. I was too blinded by my pain. I won't allow that to get in the way again."

He grunted in sheer frustration. "I don't want it, Bones. I don't want any of this. Not anymore."

"I know," she said simply without further elaboration. "Now would you like me to have your doctor paged so we can do something about your pain?"

"No. I want you to leave." He groused.

"Fine." She pivoted on her heel and marched out. All throughout the drive back to the institute she seethed. Why was he being so stubborn? So insistent upon getting his way? Why couldn't he see that while he'd covered a great amount of distance in his recovery, the journey was far from being over. His continued chronic pain just wasn't sitting well with her. It was a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. The medical staff they'd dealt with since the beginning had been exceptional. Overall she'd mostly been pleased. But there was a missing piece of the puzzle that no one had been able to fill in. She wanted a real, concrete reason for the failure of his bones to mend. She wanted a diagnosis; printed words on a piece of paper she could hold in her hand. She wanted her worst fears to be ruled out. She didn't want to think that he was much, much sicker than he was letting on.

_Fate wouldn't be so cruel, _she thought to herself as she retrieved Christine from the institute staff. _Fate isn't real. You must remain rational. Booth is just having a bad day. He's still permitted to have them from time to time with little cause as to why. He always will. Tomorrow he'll realize how unreasonable and irresponsible he was behaving. We can have an open and honest conversation then._

Sleeping that night was difficult. She ended up passing the time by doing research on the internet; something she acknowledged she should have done a lot sooner. She scanned website after website. But by the time the sun rose over the horizon she had no more insight into his injuries than she'd had. The lid to her laptop was slammed down in irritation. There was a reason why his body was mending properly. Booth wasn't a medical marvel. So why couldn't anyone come up with a diagnosis?

She felt numb tracing the path through the halls of the hospital for the umpteenth time. In his room Booth was still asleep. As she drew close to his bed she could hear him gasping softly from pain. She noticed again how tightly his arm was wrapped around his rib cage. He was guarding himself from invisible demons. Was he dreaming of the accident? Or was there another cause for his nocturnal reaction? Her fingers brushed across his forehead, discovering it to be warm once again from a slight fever. "Something just isn't right with you."

She briefly spent time with him before her doubt propelled her into action. One of his nurses was sought out. Politely she requested to meet with Dr. Smith. "Has he begun his rounds this morning?"

"Yes. I'll let him know you'd like to speak with him."

Another hour had to pass by before the doctor arrived. He took no more than two steps into the room before Brennan was backing him out. Booth was still lost in slumber land. But should he wake she preferred he not hear what was on her mind. "He's running a low grade fever again."

Dr. Smith frowned. "All right. I'll check him out. Maybe we took him off the antibiotics too soon and he's had a relapse. It wouldn't be unusual with his immune system weakened."

She was hardly hearing him. Her nerves had unexpectedly gotten the best of her. Her stomach felt as though it were tied in knots. But despite her reservations she simply had to broach the topic. "I'd like to see his recent x-rays, please."

The doctor pulled back. "It'll take me some time to request the images. May I ask why the sudden interest?"

"I just can't stop thinking about his injuries that refuse to heal. I was wondering…" She exhaled harshly. "If he's been checked for any signs of cancer."

Dr. Smith blinked as though he'd been shocked by pure electricity. "I personally have not run any tests searching for it. But I haven't seen any reason to. All the reports I've received on him have indicated a damaged, but otherwise healthy man. There's been no reason to suspect such a thing."

"But there has been. I understand the osteomyelitis was most recently why he wasn't healing. But this has been an issue ongoing for over a year. We need to step up his treatment. We need to isolate the cause for this."

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Smith thought it over. Finally, he nodded. "Let me do my brief examination of him. Then I'll submit the orders for the tests we'll need to perform."

"He may not be cooperative. He was rather agitated yesterday."

"Nothing we're not used to." He smiled ruefully.

The two separated. Brennan gave Dr. Smith his space. She sat down in a chair outside Booth's room. Her head fell into her hands. She'd planted her seed of doubt. Now she just had to hope it wouldn't grow.


End file.
